


The Call of the Tide

by sevenfists



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Road Trips, Romance, Supernatural Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-02 12:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21161513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Geno lifted the strap of Sid’s duffel from his shoulder. “I don’t think you can fly.”Sid had been trying not to think about that. “It’s fine. I’m just. I’ll tell the flight attendant I’m not feeling well.”Geno made an impatient noise. “Get in, it’s too cold.” He reached into Sid’s coat pocket and fished out his keys and jingled them in Sid’s face. “You let me drive. We go to Canada.”





	The Call of the Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Why_so_drama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Why_so_drama/gifts).

> Why_so_drama, I hope this explains the water obsession! Thank you to Thing 1 for beta reading and Thing 2 for the moral support.

His first symptom was a sore throat. He took some vitamin C with breakfast before he left for the airport. A tickle in his throat rarely turned into a full-blown cold; he was pretty good about fighting things off. Locker rooms were disgusting quagmires of bacteria, and Sid had a cast-iron immune system after a lifetime of exposure. Nothing to worry about. Worst case, he sat out a game.

By the time the plane touched down in St. Louis, his nose had started to run. He begged a tissue from Tanger on the bus. Tanger always had tissues on him, like he had signed some type of endorsement deal when Alex was born. He handed one over and said, “You’re sick?”

Sid shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Might have to cancel dinner next week if it gets worse. I don’t want to get the kids sick.”

“They’re sick all the time anyway,” Tanger said. “Okay, let me know.” He went back to his phone. Sid walked forward to his own seat.

He felt like shit that evening, maybe a little feverish, but better in the morning before skate. He took the option because he always took the option, but he felt fine in the gym, and fine on the ice that evening: two assists and a goal, and the Blues barely put up a fight. They weren’t flying out until the morning, so he went out for a late dinner with Horny and Olli and Jack and had a good time, and if he felt a little gruesome in the morning, well, that was just his hangover. Never mind that he’d only had a couple of beers. He was getting older; he got more hangovers now.

In Minneapolis, he threw up half an hour before warmups. He was kicking the soccer ball around with some of the guys and he felt fine. They’d only lost the ball in the rafters twice, and only one of those times had been Sid’s fault. Then his mouth started watering. He looked around frantically for a trashcan, but there wasn’t anything. He ended up losing it in a corner of the loading bay, bent over with his hands on his knees.

He’d eaten only a few hours ago, but nothing came up except a thin stream of shockingly bright red liquid, the color of Kool-Aid. It tasted like nothing. 

Horny and Geno were on him at once, making concerned noises. Someone’s hand settled on Sid’s upper back as he convulsed again and produced another ribbon of liquid, this time purple.

Okay, that wasn’t normal.

“Where’s doctor?” he heard Geno say.

“It’s fine,” Sid said. He straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I feel better now.” He did, 100%, like vomiting had purged whatever bad thing was in him.

“You throw up purple,” Horny said skeptically.

Sid shrugged. “Stomach acids.” He looked around at his gathered teammates, all of them wearing comically identical expressions of concern. “Sorry, guys. Gross, eh? Let me go find someone to clean this up.”

Geno trailed after him as Sid headed back toward the visitors’ lounge, hoping to run into an arena employee he could ask for help. “Sid,” Geno said. “Sid, go see Stew.”

“I’m really fine,” Sid said, annoyed that Geno had picked now of all times to worry about Sid’s well-being. 

“_Sid_,” Geno said again. He grabbed Sid’s elbow, dragging him to a halt.

Sid didn’t flinch at the familiar crackle of Geno’s touch, bright as a shower of sparks. He shook Geno off and turned to frown at him. “We’re on the ice in half an hour. I feel fine for right now.”

Geno didn’t look happy. The worried furrow of his brow deflated Sid’s ire. It probably _had_ looked pretty bad, the red and then the purple. Plus Sid wasn’t much of a puker, unlike Reeser, who got motion sick almost every time they flew.

“I’ll call it if I have trouble during the game,” Sid said, “and I’ll talk to Stew after, okay? You know I wouldn’t fuck around if it was really an issue.”

“Okay,” Geno said. His frown deepened. “Maybe you also talk to Desmond.”

Desmond was the team’s cursebreaker: nice guy, but a little wet behind the ears in Sid’s opinion. He’d been an intern last year, and then their old cursebreaker got poached by Toronto, and Desmond got a promotion. The guy was maybe twenty-two or twenty-three and clearly in over his head. Sid didn’t see much point in consulting him.

“We’ll see,” he said, and Geno shrugged and let him go.

* * *

That was New Year’s Eve. They spent it on a plane to New York. The flight attendants served champagne with the post-game meal, and Sully made a toast: to health and happiness; to another Stanley Cup. Everyone cheered before they drank. Sid felt the champagne fizz all the way down and keep bubbling in his stomach after he swallowed. He had played all three periods and hadn’t talked to Stew. Geno wouldn’t know.

He was fine in New York and managed two points against the Rangers. That night, back in Pittsburgh, in his own bed in his own house, he dreamed about the ocean: off the coast near Rainbow Haven, where the bay turned into the Atlantic. It was winter and the water was cold and dark and he was swimming fast, his flippers folded tight against his body, and then all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe. The water was too deep; it was crushing him. He couldn’t _breathe_.

He woke gasping, floundering in his sheets. His heart was racing. He had never dreamed about drowning. 

He couldn’t get back to sleep. He gave up and went downstairs in the dark, and sat at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee watching the sky slowly grow light. There was a beautiful sunrise, orange and pink reflecting off the clouds. He took a few pictures with his phone and posted them to Snapchat.

He needed to be in the water. He could drive to Baltimore: four hours each way, do-able in a day with time for a swim. When was their next day off? He couldn’t remember the schedule. They were leaving for the West Coast in a week; maybe he could wait until then, and squeeze in a trip to the beach in LA. He hated the thought of taking his pelt with him on a roadie, though. Didn’t seem safe. 

He rubbed a hand over his face and got up to make himself some breakfast before he left for the rink.

He felt like shit during practice. Sully noticed and pulled him aside. “Might be coming down with something,” Sid told him, and Sully nodded and said, “Go see the medical staff. You’re done for the day.”

Sid felt too crappy to argue. His head hurt. His whole body hurt. He wanted to lie down, but he forced himself to stay upright on the exam table as Dr. Vyas looked him over.

“Your temperature’s a little elevated,” Dr. Vyas said. “Probably a virus. Take some acetaminophen and see how you feel. Rest, fluids. We’ll go from there.”

“Thanks,” Sid said. He obediently dry-swallowed the pills when Dr. Vyas gave them to him in a plastic cup. Dismissed, he finally did what he should have done a week ago and shuffled down the hall to see Desmond.

He hoped for a curse. A curse would be inconvenient; he might be sick for days or even weeks as Desmond worked to break it, depending on how powerful the magic was. But a curse had a clear cause and a solution, and any alternative Sid could think of was worse. He couldn’t deny there was something wrong with him.

The diagnostic crystal Desmond ran over him did darken, but only to a pale, cloudy gray. Sid’s heart sank as he saw it: that wasn’t enough to explain how bad he felt, and it definitely couldn’t explain the dream.

“Only a bugaboo,” Desmond said, with the relieved expression—Sid thought uncharitably—of a man who doubted his ability to deal with the worst of what someone might throw at number 87. “We’ll have this cleared up by the end of the day.”

Sid picked up a bugaboo nearly every month. No way was that all that was wrong with him. He didn’t question Desmond’s diagnosis, though. The crystals the team used were top of the line. Whatever was wrong with him, Desmond wouldn’t be able to help.

“Thanks,” he said, and bent his head for Desmond to take the requisite clipping of his hair.

He drove home. The pain in his head was so bad by the time he pulled into his driveway that he didn’t make it any farther into the house than the sunroom. He lay down on the nearest couch, pulled a throw blanket over his legs, and passed the fuck out.

It was still light out when he woke up. His phone was buzzing steadily in his pocket. He fumbled it out and answered without looking at the screen, feeling gummy and half-awake. “H’lo?”

“Sid, it’s Gonchar. Is everything okay? We’re expecting you at the arena.”

Sid wiped drool from his chin. “At the—why? Sullivan told me to go home.”

There was a pause. Sid sat up and smacked himself in the face a few times, trying to shake off the cobwebs. Gonch said, “Sid, it’s Friday. You’re playing the Jets tonight. If you’re too sick—”

“It’s _Friday_?” Sid said. “It’s—Jesus.” Gonch wouldn’t try to prank him, but he was pretty rattled that he’d slept through lunch and dinner, through the whole afternoon and night and next morning and was now late getting to skate. “Fuck. I overslept. Sorry. I’ll be there soon.” He swallowed. “I’m not sure I should play tonight.”

“I’ll spread the word,” Gonch said. “See you soon.”

He drove to the arena with a dull, hot pressure in his head. He hadn’t eaten anything—hadn’t taken the time to do more than brush his teeth and throw on a change of clothes—but his stomach felt full and swollen like after Thanksgiving dinner. His mouth started watering as he pulled into the parking garage, and he pulled into his spot and unbuckled his seatbelt and shoved his door open and leaned out in time to vomit a torrent of clear liquid onto the concrete.

“_Fuck_,” he said, and then his stomach cramped and he puked again, another inexplicable rush of seawater. Because that was what it was: it tasted like the harbor at home, and it sank into the concrete and disappeared. It didn’t even leave a wet patch.

He slumped behind the steering wheel, panting. “Something’s wrong with me,” he said aloud, quietly.

* * *

“It might be the flu or something,” he told Sully, leaning against the boards for support. “Sorry. I’ll probably do more harm than good if I play tonight.”

“Don’t apologize.” Sully frowned at him. “Go home. Do you need someone to drive you?”

Sid hesitated. He felt pretty weak and shaky. He wanted to think he could drive himself, but—maybe he had better not. “I’ll ask Geno.” He lived the closest, and he might complain a little, but he would do it.

Sully nodded. “All right. Feel better, Sid.”

Geno was out on the ice, shooting pucks at the net. Sid went to the lounge to wait for him; Geno always liked a snack after skate. He started off sitting on one of the couches, but his head felt so heavy that he lay down before long. Even with his jacket still on, he couldn’t stop shivering. He was so tired.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him awake. Taylor was squatting beside the sofa, frowning, dressed in her work clothes. “Sid, what’s going on?”

Sid pushed himself up, wiping at his mouth. “News, travelled, eh,” he said ruefully. He liked being able to swing by Taylor’s office after practice to chat for a few minutes, but having her in the building meant she heard a lot of the team gossip, even the stuff Sid didn’t want her to know.

“Yeah, shockingly people tend to tell me things about my brother,” Taylor said. She joined Sid on the couch and peered at him. “You’re really sick, huh?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Seems like. It’s not a curse, but. I don’t know, T.”

“What do you need?” Taylor asked. “Medicine? Groceries? You should call mom and dad, they’ll fly down—”

“Don’t tell them,” Sid said. “Please. You know they’ll just worry. I’ll be fine soon. Geno’s gonna drive me home.”

“Oh, _Geno_ is going to take you home.” She frowned at him. “I could do that, you know.”

“You have work,” Sid said. “Geno has nothing on his agenda but eating lunch and playing video games.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Fine. Text me. I mean it. You know I’ll show up at your house and like, lurk in your kitchen until you talk to me.”

Sid grinned. “Yeah, I know. I’ll keep you updated. But I don’t want you to worry. You know the team will take good care of me.” Taylor had her own life with friends and her job, and he didn’t want her getting sucked into his bullshit.

“All right.” She leaned her shoulder against his for a moment. “Let’s have dinner before you leave on that road trip, okay?”

“For sure,” Sid said.

Geno came in a few minutes later, his hair damp and neatly combed. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Sid slumped on the couch. “Sid, you okay?”

Sid shook his head. “Could you drive me home? Sorry. Do you mind?”

“Oh, Sid.” Geno sighed. “Let me get banana. Then let’s go.”

Sid had to stop twice to rest on their way to the parking garage. Geno waited patiently, taking bites of his banana, as Sid leaned against the wall until he felt like he could go on.

“Sorry,” Sid said, the second time.

“You sick,” Geno said. He frowned at Sid. “I think since road trip.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Guess so.”

Geno drove like a lunatic, as always. Sid leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes and dozed until they exited the freeway. Then he watched the woods go by as Geno took every bend in the road at high speed. The weather had been mild lately, and there was no snow cover to hide the barren January brown of the trees. 

The bye was coming up before long. He could change his plans and go home. There might be snow, and he could go in the water.

“What’s sick you have,” Geno said. “Cold? Flu?”

“No,” Sid said, and stopped. He knew Geno was some sort of creature—had known since their first handshake, when Geno’s touch sparked against his palm. And he was certain Geno knew about him, too. But they had never talked about it or even vaguely referenced it, and Sid was reluctant to break his secrecy now. Nobody in the organization knew: not Sully, not Dr. Vyas, not even Mario. The only safe secret was a secret no one knew. He said, “Not sure. Some kind of bug.”

Geno grunted. He was tailgating a minivan so closely that Sid kept half-consciously pressing his foot on the floor like he could somehow force Geno to slow down. “You never sick.”

“Guess I am now,” Sid said, too tired to point out all the times he had in fact been sick. It wasn’t worth it. Geno liked to cling to his own version of reality.

Geno had to help Sid into the house, which was a little embarrassing, and then he refused to leave. He sat Sid at the kitchen table and began to rummage around in the fridge. “What you eat? Yogurt?” He pulled out a container of leftovers and squinted at it. “Noodle?”

“That’s _pasta_,” Sid said. “Noodles are—never mind. Yeah, I’ll eat some of that. Heat up the whole thing, I know you didn’t get your meal at the arena.” He rubbed his eyes and left his hands there, cupped over his eye sockets as he leaned his elbows on the table. He had slept for most of the last twenty-four hours, and he was fully ready to crawl upstairs into bed.

They didn’t talk as Geno opened cabinets and drawers until he found plates and silverware. He muttered to himself in Russian as he figured out the microwave. The smell of food filled the air as the leftovers heated, and Sid’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.

Geno brought both plates to the table and slouched in the seat across from Sid. “It’s good,” he reported after his first mouthful, and began shoveling food in faster.

Despite Sid’s hunger, his stomach wasn’t thrilled about the food. He ate slowly, pausing after each bite to make sure it stayed down. Geno finished much faster. He folded his forearms on the edge of the table and regarded Sid steadily until Sid finally set his fork down and said, “What.”

Geno pursed his lips. “Sid. Tell me. I think it’s not sick like—like fever, or when you get mumps. I see you throw up in Minneapolis. I think it’s magic.”

“I went to see Desmond,” Sid said. “It’s not a curse.”

“Okay,” Geno said. “So.” He exhaled and looked away, out the window that faced the back yard and the pool, empty now for the winter. “You tell me, maybe I help.”

Sid drew an unsteady breath. It was the closest they had ever come to acknowledging what they both knew. Geno couldn’t help him, though. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t—something’s wrong, but I don’t know what.”

Geno looked at him. For a moment, the set of his jaw made Sid think he would argue. Then he rubbed at the bridge of his nose and said, “You ask me, okay? If you need help. Need food, need company. Text when you ready and I take you to arena and get your car.”

“Thanks, G,” Sid said, touched. Geno was a good friend, and loyal. “I will.” He looked down at his plate, still mostly full. “I think I need to go lie down.”

Geno helped him clean up in the kitchen. He made it upstairs to his bedroom on his own. Before he got in bed, he texted Tanger to cancel dinner.

* * *

He felt fine in the morning. Like nothing had ever been wrong. He woke up at his usual time and ate breakfast and texted Geno about getting a ride to practice, and laughed at the incredulous looks Geno shot in his direction all the way to the rink.

“Just a bug, eh?” he said. “All that sleep must have helped me fight it off.”

“Bugaboo,” Geno muttered. He was probably right to be skeptical. It probably wasn’t over. Sid really wanted it to be, though.

Tanger looked just as skeptical as Geno had when Sid rolled into the locker room. “So, dinner is back on?”

“Probably shouldn’t,” Sid said. “I might still be contagious.”

“Yesterday we think you’re dying,” Tanger said. “Today you’re fine?”

Sid shrugged. “Got a lot of sleep. Probably one of those twenty-four-hour things, you know?”

“Okay,” Tanger said, with a shrug of his own. He went back to putting on his gear.

Sid played the next night, and again on Tuesday. He felt fine. He dreamed about drowning every night, sometimes multiple times a night, and woke up from those dreams in a cold sweat, but he was fine. He didn’t throw up again. He didn’t feel feverish. It was nothing to worry about. He bought plane tickets to Halifax for the bye week; he would go home and see his parents and spend as much time in the ocean as he could, and that would set him right again. These things happened.

The team left for a long road trip out west, California and then Arizona and Vegas. Sid’s throat felt a little sore the first night out there, but it was gone in the morning, and he decided it was just from being on the airplane. He was fine in the morning, and they played the Ducks the next night and won authoritatively, 7-4, and Sid felt great, like maybe they were finally turning the season around.

He threw up in the weight room in San Jose, another clear, foaming gush of seawater as he warmed up on the bike. There were too many witnesses for him to play it off: multiple teammates and also Andy, who abandoned the conversation he was having with Phil and hustled Sid down the hall to the trainers’ room despite Sid’s protests.

“You told me you were feeling better,” Andy said tightly, close at Sid’s heels.

“I _was_,” Sid said. “I wouldn’t lie about that.” He would play through just about anything, but he didn’t conceal information from the team. Well. Most information.

There was nothing wrong with him that Dr. McLane could find. “Probably a curse,” she said, but Desmond’s crystal came up clear. Sid threw up again in a hastily procured wastebin, and then lay trembling on an exam table while a low-voiced conversation took place without him. He didn’t have much hope that they would come up with anything useful. He had more of an idea of what was going on than anyone else did, and he knew almost nothing. Only that he was sick, and not getting better.

He had recovered enough by the time skate was over to travel back to the hotel on the bus with the rest of the team. He saw the worried looks, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He put his head against the window and pretended to sleep, and then really did sleep, until Olli gently shook his shoulder in the parking lot and said, “Sid, we’re here.”

He didn’t play that night. He didn’t even make it to the arena. He slept through the game in his hotel room, and only woke long enough in the night to check the final score on his phone. The Penguins had lost.

* * *

He didn’t get better. He could go to the rink and ride the bike very slowly and sit in on meetings, but he wasn’t okay, and nobody knew what to do about it. There was talk about sending him back to Pittsburgh for further testing, but Sid didn’t want to leave the team because that would mean admitting defeat.

“We’ll be home in a few days,” he said, the second time Dr. McLane suggested it. “It’s probably just the flu or something.”

“It’s not the flu,” she said, but she didn’t bring it up again.

They spent two days in Arizona before they played the Coyotes. The dry warmth of the desert only made Sid feel worse. That first night, he stayed in his room and ordered in for dinner, although he didn’t have much of an appetite. He tried to bribe himself into eating by ordering a pizza, and it did work, a little, although he ran out of steam after two slices and couldn’t force himself to eat more. His head ached. His sinuses felt dry and papery. He turned on the TV and didn’t bother changing the channel, just watched what appeared on the screen, some reality show about people who were dating but didn’t seem to like each other very much.

There was a knock on his door. “Come in,” Sid called, before he remembered he would have to get up and open the door.

He dragged himself out of bed. It was Geno, in sweatpants and slides. He looked worried and weary. He raised his eyebrows at Sid.

“You need something?” Sid asked. His head was spinning. He wanted to get back in bed.

“You look like shit,” Geno said. He put a crackling hand on Sid’s shoulder and steered him toward the bed. “Lie down.”

“I _was_,” Sid said. “Then some asshole knocked on my door.” He climbed back into the rumpled sheets and settled in the nest of pillows he’d made. Hotel pillows were always so much nicer than the ones he had at home, even though he’d shelled out for the expensive down pillows his mom recommended. 

“Yes, I’m asshole,” Geno said. He sat at the edge of the bed and flipped open Sid’s abandoned pizza box, and made a pleased noise when he saw there was pizza still in it. “Pepperoni,” he said approvingly, and took out a slice.

“Help yourself,” Sid said, as Geno took his first bite. 

“Taste good,” Geno said. He chewed a few times and swallowed. He studied the slice of pizza in his hand, and then transferred his gaze to Sid. “You tell me you don’t have curse.”

“I don’t,” Sid said. “Not even a bugaboo. Believe me, Desmond’s looked.”

Geno finished the slice, chewing slowly and deliberately and licking the grease from his fingers when he was done. He wiped his hand on his sweatpants and rose to his feet. “Come here.”

“Where are we going?” Sid asked, already rolling out of bed again because he had never learned to tell Geno no.

Geno went into the washroom. The shower had a tub enclosure, which always struck Sid as a little weird when he encountered it in hotel rooms. Did anyone really take a bath in a hotel? Maybe Geno did, because he bent down to plug the drain and turn on the tap, letting the water stream over his hand for a few moments before he straightened again.

With Sid standing right there, woozy and confused, Geno pulled his T-shirt over his head. His bare torso was a familiar sight to Sid after so many years, the patchy scatter of hair across his pecs and the heavy pendants against his breastbone. He kicked off his slides and pushed down his sweatpants, and Sid looked away then, so he wouldn’t stare.

Geno stepped into the tub and sat down, hissing through his teeth as he sank into the water. He was way too big for the tub, his hairy knees jutting up toward his shoulders. 

“You don’t have a bath in your own room?” Sid asked.

Geno closed his eyes. “Shh, don’t distract.”

Nothing happened. Sid sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall, waiting. The tiles were cool and perfectly scrubbed clean. He had no idea what was going on, but asking more questions seemed like too much of an effort. He was so tired.

Another minute went by. Then Geno changed: a quick sideways shimmer, like video footage glitching, and a dark green color ran over him, tinting his skin like food coloring squeezed into a glass of water. His fingers lengthened and webs grew between them. His mouth widened and his nose flattened. By the time he turned to look at Sid, he was unrecognizable aside from the scar on his cheek.

“What are you?” Sid asked.

“_Vodyanoy_,” Geno croaked with his strange flat mouth. “It’s like, water spirit.”

“Oh,” Sid said. Cautiously he took one of Geno’s hands in his own and studied the clawed fingers and the stretchy webs in between, the skin so thin the light shone through. Geno’s skin was a little slimy, like a frog’s. He looked like he would be very at home in a cool, shaded pond somewhere.

Geno regarded him with bulbous, unblinking eyes. “I know you’re creature, Sid. For long time. Okay, me too. So you tell me, let me try to help you. Doctors don’t help, Desmond’s not help. But they don’t know you’re creature.”

“I just need to go home,” Sid said. “Soon. A few days.”

Geno pulled his hand away. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and shifted back into his own familiar pale shoulders and long limbs. Sid scooted out of the way as Geno climbed dripping from the tub and pulled a towel from the rack to dry himself with. He turned away, showing Sid his back. His silence was textural.

“I’m a selkie,” Sid said, and then thought Geno might not know that word. “A seal person.”

Geno glanced at Sid over one shoulder. “You’re water creature.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Same as you. I’d show you, but I don’t have my, uh. My pelt.” It was in Pittsburgh, in a fireproof safe in his basement. 

“Okay.” Geno dropped the towel on the floor and bent to pick up his sweatpants. Sid flicked his eyes up toward the ceiling. “It’s silkie thing, why you’re sick?”

“Selkie,” Sid said. “No, I don’t think so. If you’re away from the water for too long—but it can’t be that, because I went swimming when I was home over Christmas. I wasn’t lying to you before, I really don’t know what’s wrong with me. So I don’t know how you could help me.”

Geno pulled his T-shirt over his head and gave Sid a familiar smirking look, teasing and challenging, the way he looked taking a faceoff during practice. “Because I’m magic. No, I don’t know, Sid, I don’t have idea. But let me try.”

* * *

Sid watched the game in Arizona on a screen in the visitors’ lounge, and spent the short flight to Vegas lying on the two seats all the way in the back of the plane, so that he had easy access to the toilet. He threw up twice. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever get better or if he would just keep getting sicker and weaker until he died. He could only stay upright for a few minutes before he had to lie down again. He spent a lot of time sleeping. It didn’t seem like it was going to end.

When the plane landed in Vegas, Tanger and Geno came back to help him off the plane: Tanger in front and Geno behind, so that Sid could hold on to Tanger’s jacket and have Geno to catch him if he stumbled. He was embarrassed, but they did it without asking him or making him talk about it, just walked with him in silence. Sid’s throat closed over with unexpected emotion. He was lucky to have these good friends.

It was late; the game had gone to overtime. Sid fell asleep on the bus and woke to Tanger and Geno having a quiet conversation over his head. “Sure,” Tanger was saying, “I’ll do that. Thanks, Geno.” He went off, and Geno bent and put his hand on Sid’s shoulder, a faint tingle through his shirt, and said, “Let’s go.”

It was so late there were no fans waiting to see Geno help Sid off the bus and into the lobby. Jen was waiting for them with their room keys, and they took them and went upstairs, Sid leaning on the handrails in the hallways and Geno’s hand at his elbow, waiting to help him. Geno took him all the way to his room and inside and waited there until Sid undressed and climbed into bed. Then he sat on the edge of the mattress and put one hand on Sid’s forehead. A cool shiver passed over Sid’s skin. The deep ache in his gut eased. His eyes slid shut.

“What’d you do,” he slurred.

“I tell you,” Geno said. “Magic. Sleep, Sid.”

He slept until Tanger came in the morning to see if he wanted anything to eat or wanted help going downstairs for breakfast. He didn’t; food sounded terrible, and leaving his bed sounded worse. He slept most of the day, only waking briefly when Andy came by to check on him that afternoon and force him to eat a protein bar.

“You’re scaring the shit out of all of us,” Andy said, as he stood by the bed to make sure Sid ate every bite.

“Sorry,” Sid said. “I’ll be fine.” The protein bar tasted like chalk and crumbled in his mouth the way he imagined chalk would. He wanted to be done chewing so he could go back to sleep.

“You’d better be,” Andy said. “Fuck, Sid.”

“I’ll be okay,” Sid said, but they were just words. He was too tired to believe it.

He had to go to the arena for the game because they were flying back to the East Coast immediately afterward. He found a couch in the lounge to lie down on and dozed through the pre-game bustle. Flower came to say hello, and Sid was so glad to see him but it also sucked to see Flower’s face as he tried not to react to Sid’s apparently extremely pathetic condition. Tanger should have warned him. Maybe Tanger _had_ warned him, but it was still worse than Flower had expected.

“Sorry you aren’t playing tonight,” Flower said. “I want to keep you from scoring.”

“Next time,” Sid said. He dredged up a smile. He missed Flower a lot. He had planned to spend a couple of days in Vegas to start off the bye week, but that was off the table now.

“You’ll be better by the All-Star Game,” Flower said. “We’ll party in San Jose.”

“Can’t wait,” Sid said.

He meant to watch the game, but he fell asleep instead. Stew came to wake him when it was time to leave for the airport. Sid asked him for the score, and Stew shook his head and said, “We didn’t win, that’s for sure.”

Sid spent the whole flight sleeping, but he didn’t throw up at all, so that was an improvement. They landed early in the morning, when the sun was lining the horizon in red. Sid woke as the wheels touched down and the plane went shuddering along the runway. He had a flight to catch in a few hours; maybe he would just stay at the airport. There were clothes and toiletries at his lake house.

No: he needed his fucking passport. And his pelt.

He wasn’t sure he could drive.

He made his own slow way off the airplane, grabbing seatbacks for support, as Tanger waited for him at the end of the aisle. He felt barely awake. His intestines were cramping; he didn’t want to think about what that might mean, especially with a long day of travel ahead of him. 

“You’re stubborn,” Tanger said, when Sid came close. “Go to the hospital, Sid.”

“I’m going home later today,” Sid said. “My dad’s a magician. We’ll get it straightened out.”

“Fine.” Tanger sighed. “At least let me help you down the stairs.”

The morning air was crisp and cold as Sid shuffled to his car. He slowed as he approached. He knew that tall figure standing by the driver’s side door. “Geno,” he said.

Geno straightened from his slouch and lifted his face from where he’d had it tucked into his scarf. “Let’s go. We take your car, it’s more room.”

“You’re taking me home?” Sid asked. He was too relieved to argue. He could get a cab back to the airport and avoid the whole question of whether he was fit to drive. “Let’s take your car. Then I can take my car home when I get back from Canada.” 

Geno lifted the strap of Sid’s duffel from his shoulder. “I don’t think you can fly.”

Sid had been trying not to think about that. “It’s fine. I’m just. I’ll tell the flight attendant I’m not feeling well.”

Geno made an impatient noise. “Get in, it’s too cold.” He reached into Sid’s coat pocket and fished out his keys and jingled them in Sid’s face. “You let me drive. We go to Canada.”

* * *

He wouldn’t listen to any of Sid’s arguments: that Sid had plane tickets; that it was a two-day drive. That Sid had to be at the fucking All-Star Game at the end of the week and Geno was going to have to drive back to Pittsburgh alone. That Taylor could take him, which wasn’t even true, because she had work and would be upset if he pulled strings to get her the time off. Everything Sid said dropped into the early morning quiet and disappeared.

“It isn’t cute when you do this during games, and it’s not cute now,” Sid said. “I know you haven’t actually forgotten English, you asshole.”

Geno shrugged and said something in Russian as he turned to take the bridge across the river.

He remembered English again as soon as he pulled into Sid’s driveway and turned off the car. “What you need from house? Tell me, I go pack.”

“The stuff’s in a safe,” Sid said. “I’ll have to go in.”

He shakily went downstairs to get his pelt and his passport from the safe, and sent Geno upstairs to get him two changes of clean clothes. Everything else was already in his duffel from the road trip, his toothbrush and deodorant and whatnot. He met Geno again in the kitchen and undressed out of his suit right there, too sick and weary to pretend he had any modesty. He draped the jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and folded the trousers as neatly as he could, and that would have to do. 

As Geno watched silently, Sid tied his fur to his lower back with an elastic belt. Against his skin was the only safe place; he never travelled with it any other way. Geno wasn’t close enough to touch Sid’s pelt, but the back of Sid’s neck prickled with awareness anyway. Even letting someone see his pelt was shockingly intimate. Sid kept his eyes averted until he’d tugged his sweatshirt into place.

They stopped by Geno’s house long enough for Geno to run in and change and get his passport and pack some clothes, and then they were off. The sun was just sliding above the horizon. Geno stopped at a Dunkin’s on the way out of town and ordered a giant coffee and two sausage sandwiches, and said, “Don’t tell Andy.”

“I won’t,” Sid said. “Get me a bacon one.”

It came on a croissant with an egg and cheese. Sid ate it in about three bites and wished he’d told Geno to order two, but they were already on their way, heading for downtown and east out of the city into the mountains, to the quiet, wide-open interstate that would take them east to New York and beyond that to Nova Scotia. It wasn’t a bad drive, only long. Sid usually did it with Nate at the end of the season, and it was fun: taking a road trip with a buddy, listening to Nate’s terrible music and stopping for greasy roadside food. 

He let Geno mutter and honk his way through early rush hour traffic. When the roads cleared up a little, he said, “Why are you doing this?”

Geno glanced at him. “I say I help.”

“Yeah, but.” Sid gestured vaguely. “Driving me to Canada? You’re supposed to be going to Miami, G. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

“I know,” Geno said. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “You captain. Team needs you.”

“Geno,” Sid said. “Come on.”

Geno sighed heavily. “I think, if I’m sick, you do for me.”

He wasn’t wrong. Sid wanted to say he would do the same for any guy on the team, but that wasn’t true. Driving to Halifax and back in less than a week? He tried to take care of his guys, but there were limits. But he would do it for Geno. He would drive to Miami if Geno needed him to, and give up his whole bye week. 

“I owe you one,” he said.

Geno scoffed and didn’t reply.

Sid slept for a while. He woke when Geno pulled off at a rest stop, and again when Geno stopped for lunch not far over the border into New York. It was noon. They were making suspiciously good time.

“How fast have you been driving,” Sid said, as they crossed the parking lot toward the random truck stop Geno had picked. The plan was to get sandwiches and go.

Geno looked a little sheepish. “Only like, 90.”

“You get pulled over, you’re gonna have to haul your ass all the way back out here to go to traffic court,” Sid said. “Don’t risk it.”

Geno looked even more sheepish. “Maybe I use a little bit magic.”

Sid had read a little about vodyanoy on his phone, but he hadn’t seen anything about vodyanoy magic offering protection from the highway patrol. “You’re a maniac,” he said, and Geno grinned.

He felt a little more alert after lunch, for the first time in days. He stayed awake as they crossed into Connecticut. Traffic got heavier as they approached Hartford, and Geno was forced to slow down, which was probably a good thing as Sid wasn’t sure even vodyanoy magic could evade Connecticut speed traps. They stopped again for a piss break. Sid fell asleep somewhere over the border into Massachusetts, lulled by the rhythm of the car, and woke with a start as Geno shook him gently and said, “Sid, wake up, sorry.”

Sid sat up and rubbed at his face. “I’m awake. What’s up?” The sun was still up, beginning to sink below the trees. They were on the interstate somewhere. 

“I need to stop,” Geno said. “Sorry. It’s not enough sleep last night.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sid said. “That’s fine. Where are we?”

“Almost Portland,” Geno said. “I think we stop, find hotel, maybe dinner. Sleep early, get up tomorrow and drive.”

“Portland’s where me and Nate usually stop for the night,” Sid said. “Tomorrow will be a shorter day in the car.” He looked over at Geno’s face, his somber profile backlit by the setting sun. “Thanks, G. This is a lot of driving for one person.”

Geno shrugged. “It’s not bad. But maybe we get seafood now.”

Sid had to get out his phone to direct Geno to the hotel downtown where he and Nate usually stayed. He sat in the car as Geno went in to the lobby, and then Geno came out again and said, “Okay, you go in, let me go park. Here’s key, or wait and I help you upstairs.”

“I can go up,” Sid said, but that turned out to be a lie. He was sitting in the lobby when Geno came back inside, wrapped in his coat and scarf with his toque pulled low on his forehead. His expression changed in some way when he saw Sid waiting for him, a shift as subtle and complete as his transformation in the bathtub. Sid didn’t know what it meant, but seeing it warmed him.

“Sorry,” he said anyway. “Just not feeling right.”

“I know,” Geno said. He picked up Sid’s bag. “Come, let’s go.”

Geno had only booked one room. “So I keep eye on you,” he said, and Sid couldn’t suppress a swell of relief that he wouldn’t be left alone. Geno dropped Sid’s bag on the bed closer to the door and pointed. “Get in. Rest. I get food. They have seafood here? Room service?”

“Probably, but you can do better.” Sid took off his shoes and climbed into bed, with his fur still securely buckled around his waist. “You need a lobster roll. Or just a whole lobster.”

Geno flopped down on the other bed and started scrolling through his phone looking for restaurant recommendations, asking Sid for his opinion about each as if Sid had literally any fucking idea. He and Nate usually just went somewhere within walking distance that looked decent. He didn’t care about seafood; he could get seafood at home. He could catch his own seafood. He’d never worried about it here. But Geno wanted lobster, and after their long day and their red-eye flight and Geno’s constant, attentive care, Sid wanted him to get the best lobster in the entire state of Maine.

Geno finally settled on a place and went out with promises to bring takeout back for Sid. Not five minutes after he had left, Sid was on his knees in front of the toilet, vomiting up seawater and the remnants of his lunch. He had been fine for most of the day: eating, awake more, not puking. Maybe that had been Geno’s magic at work, settling him, and it was only effective in close proximity. 

He dragged himself back into bed and lay beneath the covers, shivering, until Geno returned with a big white takeout bag. “Lobster roll,” Geno crowed, and then he frowned at Sid and asked, “You feel worse?”

“Yeah,” Sid said. His teeth were chattering a little.

Geno bent and put his hand on Sid’s forehead, like he had before in Vegas. His magic washed through Sid’s shaking body and soothed him at once. He stopped shivering. Geno set the takeout bag on the room’s small desk and unpacked it, and after a few minutes the smell of food lured Sid from his bed. He thought he could eat now.

Geno rolled the desk chair out of the way to let Sid open the other takeout container. He actually wasn’t a huge fan of lobster rolls—there were far better ways to eat lobster—but the first bite was so good that he eagerly wolfed down the rest of it, standing beside the desk and licking mayo from his fingers. 

“You hungry,” Geno said, smiling up at him, not mocking but happy. “It’s good.”

“I threw up while you were out,” Sid said. “But I feel better now. Whatever you did helped. Thanks.”

Geno ducked his head. “I tell you. It’s magic.”

“Special vodyanoy magic,” Sid said, teasing a little—feeling good enough to tease, with his lobster roll and Geno right here, making sure he got home. He owed Geno a lot for this, maybe more than he could repay. Geno wouldn’t ever try to collect, but Sid would remember this for the rest of his life, the way Geno hadn’t even hesitated to help him. 

“What,” Geno said, giving him a curious look. 

“Nothing,” Sid said. “Finish your roll.”

* * *

He fell asleep after dinner and had the dream about drowning again, and woke coughing and gasping, terrified. He wasn’t drowning; he wasn’t in the water. He was in bed, and Geno was lying on the other bed, frowning at him and saying, “You okay?”

The TV was on. Sid coughed a few times. He was in Maine. “I’m fine. Bad dream. Sorry.”

“Sleep more,” Geno said. “You’re safe here.”

“I know,” Sid said, but he didn’t really believe it. A restless feeling in his gut drove him out of bed. He paced an aimless line at the foot of the bed and then went into the washroom to splash some water on his face. The cool touch made him think not of his dream but of being in the water for real, the first plunge of his face into the sea as he dove. He wanted to be in the water: not a desire but a sudden, gripping need.

He went back out to the main room. Geno looked over at him, sprawled out with one arm behind his head, his socked feet stretching to the end of the mattress. Sid couldn’t read his expression.

“I need to get in the water,” Sid said. “I’m sorry. What time is it? Can you take me? I know you probably just want to pass out. There’s a beach like two miles from here.”

“Yes, let’s go,” Geno said, not hesitating, rolling out of bed and reaching down for his shoes.

The beach Sid had in mind was at the east end of downtown: too public and well-trafficked under normal circumstances, but it was dark and January and Sid was willing to make concessions. There were no cars in the parking lot when Geno pulled in, and no one in sight as they walked the short distance to the strip of rocks along the water. 

The winter wind was cold enough to bite through Sid’s coat and make him shiver, and rich with the smell of salt. He undressed as quickly as he could and untied his pelt from around his waist. Holding it in his hands, he made his shaky way to the water’s edge, with Geno one step behind him to make sure he didn’t stumble. The icy water lapped at his toes. With a deep breath, he draped his fur over his head and shoulders and felt the change ripple through him.

He dipped his snout into the water. The ocean was right there, calm and vast, reflecting the light of the full moon. Sid tensed his body to flop himself forward and realized he couldn’t do it. Even that small distance was too far. He made a plaintive noise and wriggled on the rocks, doing his best to drag his body forward with his front flippers. He was so close.

“Sid, wait,” Geno said. “You understand?” He swore in Russian. There was a flurry of rustling sounds, and Geno swearing repeatedly and hissing air through his teeth. Then Sid felt hands on his back, sliding around his sides to cup his belly, and with a grunt and a great heave, Geno lifted Sid in his arms.

It shouldn’t have been possible. In his seal form, Sid weighed far more than a human could lift so easily. But Geno held him and carried him into the water, swearing loudly the whole way, until he was in deep enough that Sid could float, his heavy body buoyed by the waves.

The ocean was singing to him, but Sid circled Geno and nosed at him urgently, concerned. The water was frigid. His eyesight wasn’t great above water, and Geno was only a blurry shape, but when he lifted a hand and stroked it gently along Sid’s back, Sid could feel the blunt pressure of claws. Geno had shifted, too.

“Go swim,” Geno said. “You can’t?” His hand slid along one of Sid’s flippers. “Oh, Sid. You’re so sick.”

Sid circled him again. He didn’t want to go far. All he wanted was to be in the water. Swimming far and fast was for other days. He didn’t want to leave Geno alone, wondering when Sid would come back.

Geno sighed and sank down in the water until he was submerged to his chin. “We stay here, then. Until you ready.”

Sid nosed at him again, tucking his wet snout in the crook of Geno’s neck. Geno laughed and batted at him gently. Sid wished he could ask Geno if he was okay, if the water was too cold, if he needed to get out and wait in the car with the heaters turned on full blast, but he couldn’t speak. He had to trust that Geno wouldn’t put himself in any danger. Sid couldn’t leave the water yet. It was a physical need: he needed to be in the ocean. At least for a little while longer.

They bobbed in the waves, in the cold air and the moonlight. Sid dove a few times to circle Geno’s feet on the rocky bottom and bobbed up to snort water in Geno’s face to make him laugh. He was overcome with a deep fondness for Geno, who had so happily eaten his lobster roll, and waded into the midwinter ocean with Sid cradled in his arms, and had come all this way to help him. Geno’s friendship was a gift. It couldn’t be repaid because it had been so freely given.

At last he felt ready to leave. He swam back to the shore and shifted there in the shallows so he could walk out on his own. The water was fucking freezing, and the air felt even colder, but they had brought towels, and his clothes were waiting there for him on the rocks, his warm winter coat. Geno yelped as he came out of the water and shifted, and said, “So fucking cold, Sid, _why_,” even as Sid threw him a towel.

“Should have just rolled me in,” Sid said, and Geno laughed.

* * *

Geno wasn’t happy about the salt water. He sat in the tub when they got back to the hotel and shifted into his vodyanoy form and asked Sid to pour water over his head, too tall to submerge himself. Sid used the ice bucket. It worked okay. Geno made a lot of disgruntled noises as he scrubbed at his skin with his hands.

“I didn’t know it was so bad for you,” Sid said, feeling acutely guilty. 

“_Terrible_,” Geno said, and then gave Sid a stern look that was unmistakable even on his unfamiliar frog face and said, “Don’t say sorry. It’s wash off, it’s fine. I’m just complain.”

“You sure are,” Sid said, grinning despite himself. Geno was good at making a lot of noise.

Even after all of that, it was barely 9:00 by the time they both got in bed for the night. Sid dreamed of the ocean, but only good, peaceful dreams of swimming through clear water and catching every fish he chased. He woke in the morning when Geno opened the curtains to let in the faint morning light. He rolled over to check the clock on the nightstand. 6:12. They had both slept well.

They stopped for food on the way out of town and ate in the car. The roads would be empty from here on out, and with the way Geno drove, Sid thought they would be in Halifax by mid-afternoon unless the border crossing was really backed up, which it never was. 

“Easy driving today,” he said. “Not much to see, though. Mostly trees.”

Geno shrugged and stuffed a final bite of bagel in his mouth. “It’s interesting for me. It’s new. I only drive in Pittsburgh, you know? So now I see new places.” He glanced sidelong at Sid. “See where you live.”

“Sure,” Sid said. He liked the idea of showing Geno his home. The thought gave him a small, tender pleasure he didn’t probe too hard. Some things were best left alone.

He was asleep by Augusta and didn’t wake up again until Geno slowed at the border to go through customs. The border agent recognized Sid and was happy to chat about hockey a little and asked zero questions about why a Russian was driving up to Halifax with him. 

“Not a Pens fan,” Sid said to Geno as they pulled away, grinning a little at Geno’s scowl. “Still, you’d think he’d put two and two together.”

“No one recognize me, it’s fine,” Geno said, clearly settling in to be martyred about this.

“People recognize you all the time and you bitch about it,” Sid said. “Can’t have it both ways, bud.”

“Go back to sleep, shh,” Geno said, and Sid laughed, but it wasn’t a bad idea. He slept until Geno stopped outside Moncton for lunch. They got sandwiches, and Sid ate his hungrily and stayed awake for a while, watching the wind farms out the window. He had no magic of his own beyond what he needed to shift forms, but now that he was paying attention, he recognized the steady presence of Geno’s magic keeping him afloat, comforting as the touch of a hand. He didn’t feel great, but he felt better than he would have otherwise.

He slept again and woke up south of Truro. They neared the turnoff to his house on the lake, and he thought about telling Geno to head there first so they could turn the heat up and maybe get a fire going. He needed to see his parents, though, before anything else.

“Take this next exit,” he said, when the GPS wanted Geno to continue on to Halifax. “We’re going to my parents’ house first.”

Geno glanced at him. “They know we come?”

“No,” Sid said. He hadn’t wanted to worry them ahead of time. He took out his phone to text them, even though he and Geno were only ten minutes out and it barely counted as advanced notice.

It was weird to sit in the passenger seat as Geno drove through town, past the Timmies and the Sobeys and Cole Harbour Place and onto the familiar quiet streets of Sid’s parents’ neighborhood. They still lived in the same split-level he’d grown up in, which he loved. Every year his life took him farther away, but he could come back every summer and pretend he hadn’t left at fifteen. He was still the same guy he’d always been, just richer, now.

“Slow down,” he said, and Geno obediently braked. “It’s that one there—yeah. You can pull in behind that car.” His mom’s car, but that didn’t mean anyone was home; his parents could have gone out together. Neither of them had responded to his text.

He and Geno got out of the car. The temperature was way warmer than it had been in Maine; no wonder there wasn’t any snow on the ground. Geno groaned and stretched his arms above his head as he followed Sid up the short walkway to the front door. Sid didn’t feel great either after two days in the car. They were both getting old.

He heard Sam barking inside the house after he rang the doorbell. “They have dog?” Geno asked, and then the door opened and Sid’s mom was there, holding a book in one hand, with Sam sticking her white muzzle out to see who had come to visit.

“_Sidney_?” Trina said, her eyes darting from him to Geno behind him, as Sam began wagging her tail.

“Hi, mom,” Sid said, smiling helplessly at the beloved sight of her face, until the shock faded from her expression and she started smiling, too.

* * *

After the ensuing hugging and exclaiming and more hugging, he and Geno were herded back to the kitchen and seated at the table, the same knotty pine table Taylor had scribbled all over in crayon. Sid could still see a few faint traces of blue if he looked hard enough. The house smelled like it always did, a mixture of cleaning products and food odors and the vanilla candles his mom liked to burn in the evenings.

“Your dad went grocery shopping,” his mom said, opening the fridge and taking out a few glass containers of leftovers. “He’ll be home soon. Let me heat up some food. Do you want a beer? Coffee?”

“Coffee, please,” Geno said, and Sid’s mom smiled approvingly at him. She loved a houseguest who wasn’t afraid to make requests.

She set a pot to brew and put some leftovers in the oven and joined them at the table. “I won’t ask why you’re here. Let’s wait until your dad gets back so you only have to tell us once. You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Sid said dryly. “You can always count on family to tell it like it is.” Sam had settled down on the floor beneath his chair; he reached down to scratch her ears.

“Someone’s got to keep you modest,” his mom said. “Are you staying here or at your place? I can make up the beds upstairs.”

Sid glanced at Geno, who was looking at the botanical prints hanging on the wall above the table. He had taken off his toque and his hair was somehow both frizzy and matted down. Sid said, “I think my place. Be nice to show Geno the lake.” 

They made small talk about the trip until the coffee was ready. Geno talked about his lobster roll. Sid’s mom got up to take mugs from the cabinet, and just then a car door slammed and Sam’s tail thumped against the floor a few times. Sid’s dad was home.

Trina went to meet him at the door. Sid could hear them talking quietly. He leaned over to nudge Geno with his elbow and said, “Thanks.”

Geno raised his coffee mug to his mouth and lifted his eyebrows. “For what? Drink coffee?”

“You know,” Sid said. “For everything. We won’t stay here long today. Just want to tell my dad what’s happening.”

His dad came into the room, loaded down with grocery bags. He set them down and held out his arms as Sid stood up from the table for a hug. He’d seen his parents a month ago, but it was always good to see them. They lived so far apart. He felt the distance more as he got older and began to realize that none of them were immortal.

Troy held him close for a long, tight hug, and then released him at last to shake hands with Geno. “Mom’s already feeding you, I see,” he said.

“Well, they looked hungry,” Sid’s mom said, coming in with the remaining grocery bags. “Or at least Geno did.”

“I’m still growing!” Geno said, which got the laugh he wanted, and Sid watched him glow with pride that he’d been funny. 

They all sat around the table and drank coffee and ate the casserole Trina had heated up, cheesy potatoes that tasted like home and childhood. Sid told his parents the whole story, starting with his sore throat a few days after Christmas, being sure to lean heavily on Geno’s contributions because of how it made Geno look down at his plate, almost bashful. He didn’t talk about Geno carrying him into the water the night before. That felt private.

“It’s a curse,” Sid’s dad said, when he was done. “It’s got to be a curse. Vomiting seawater?”

“Desmond didn’t find anything,” Sid said. “I know he’s pretty inexperienced, but the crystals would have picked up on it.”

Troy shook his head. “He must have missed something. There’s nothing else it could be, it’s clearly magical in nature. Let me go get my kit. I’ll take you to see Jerry tomorrow.” He got up and left the kitchen.

Sid’s mom reached out and rested one hand on Geno’s forearm. “Geno, thank you for bringing him to us. We’re very grateful. I know you’ve given up your whole bye week.”

Geno ducked his head. “I don’t have big plan. Only go to Miami. It’s better I help Sid. He’s so stubborn, you know, he say he’s not sick.”

“That’s my son,” Trina said, and sighed.

Sid’s dad came back in with his kit, an ancient, beat-up canvas Dopp kit he’d had Sid’s whole life. He opened it up on the table and rummaged through. As always, inside was a crowded, jumbled mess of twine, feathers, dried herbs, melted candle stubs, seashells, and butterscotch candies probably several years past their expiration date. Troy fished out a diagnostic crystal and said, “Let’s take a quick look.”

He ran the crystal over Sid’s head and hands, the usual hotspots for a curse. It came up clear: not even faintly cloudy.

“I told you,” Sid said.

Troy grunted. “Jerry will look you over tomorrow.”

If anyone could find a curse that eluded all other attempts, it was Jerry. “All right,” Sid said. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

His parents wanted them to stay for dinner, but Sid was tired and thought Geno might like to shower and lie on the couch and not be social for a while, or maybe go swimming in the lake, even as cold as it was. He’d probably welcome a chance to get in the water.

He didn’t have any food at his place. He directed Geno to stop at Sobeys on the way out of town, and Geno went in while Sid waited in the car, and came out a while later with his hands full of grocery bags, probably way more food than they could eat in just a few days. Sid didn’t say anything about it. They could give the leftovers to his parents, or one of his neighbors on the lake.

Geno turned on the radio and scanned through the channels until he found the top 40 station, at which point he immediately started singing along with a song Sid recognized but couldn’t identify. Sid put his head against the window and let Geno’s off-key singing lull him into a doze. He woke when the car slowed at the gate at the end of his road and Geno said, “Sid, I need code.”

The house was cold and quiet, and dim inside from the overcast afternoon. Sid showed Geno the kitchen and left him there to unpack the groceries, and went around turning on lamps and opening the curtains. A tension he’d been carrying around for weeks began to ease. He was home now with people to help him, and Geno in his kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator, gentle domestic noises that unwound Sid even further. He was safe here.

Still in his coat, he went into the kitchen to help Geno finish putting the food away. “You want to go for a swim before it gets dark? Water’s fresh here, and it won’t be frozen over with how warm it’s been.”

Geno put a box of crackers in the cabinet and smiled over at him. “It’s safe? No lake monster?”

“No lake monsters,” Sid confirmed. “Although I hear there’s a big sturgeon in there somewhere. You’ll have to let me know if you see it.”

Geno grinned. “I find for you.”

They went outside and walked to the end of the dock. Nobody was out, and the air was quiet aside from a few calls of birds from the trees. A cold wind blew off the water; there was a front coming through with clouds building up to the north, and the forecast had said that tomorrow would be much colder. Geno shivered dramatically as he took off his coat and began undressing, dropping his clothes in a pile on the dock.

Sid let himself look for maybe the first time ever. Geno had the world’s longest legs and fattest ass and Sid had known that for a long time, but he’d never let himself, like. _Contemplate_ it. But he felt like shit and Geno had come a long way to take care of him, and Sid wanted to enjoy a few moments to look at Geno’s ass when Geno’s back was turned. It wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“_Cold_,” Geno said decisively when he was naked, and then he dove cleanly into the dark water and disappeared with barely a splash. Sid crouched down and waited. Geno surfaced after longer than Sid might have expected, his froggy green face lifting to spit a thin stream of water. “Nice. Clean, lots of fish.”

“It’s a nice lake,” Sid said. “Stay out as long as you want. I’ll start on something for dinner.”

“You come in, too,” Geno said. He blinked his large eyes at Sid. “Swim together.”

“Oh, well.” He did swim in the lake sometimes, in seal form; it wasn’t anywhere near as good as the ocean, but he didn’t have any objection to fresh water. “Probably can’t swim too well right now. I don’t want to hold you back.”

Geno sank slightly in the water. “It’s okay. You come in, let’s swim.”

Sid wavered for another moment, but he had liked being in the water with Geno before, swimming close to him and feeling Geno stroke his back. “If you’re sure,” he said, and shrugged out of his coat.

Geno swam closer to the dock and clung to one of the pilings as Sid stripped out of his clothes. His close and focused attention made Sid a little nervous, which was annoying. He resisted the urge to cover his dick or any other part of himself, and also resisted the urge to wonder why Geno was watching. Maybe he was afraid Sid would take a header into the water. It didn’t mean anything.

Sid still had his pelt strapped to his back. He wrapped himself in it against the cold air and changed, and heaved his heavy body over the edge of the dock.

The water was colder than the air, but he didn’t mind it now. He dove in a clean parabola toward the bottom of the lake and back up to the surface, and came up blowing air. The lake wasn’t the ocean, but it was good to swim and be inside his seal skin for a while.

Geno pushed away from the dock and glided through the water toward Sid, nothing visible of him but his eyes and the top of his head. He wasn’t streamlined like Sid or perfectly designed for swimming, but he moved more smoothly than a human would have, and he was nearly invisible in the water, his dark skin merging with the dark lake. Sid dove again and swam beneath Geno’s body, deliberately skimming his back along the length of Geno’s front below the water.

He surfaced to the sound of Geno’s laughter. “Come, Sid,” Geno said. “Let’s swim.”

Sid didn’t have the energy to do much more than trail around in Geno’s wake as Geno explored. The wind made the surface choppy, and Sid stayed below the water most of the time, only coming up every few minutes for air. Geno dove deep into the lake and Sid didn’t try to follow him; there wasn’t much down there, just rocks and mud. When Geno came up again, he wiped water from his eyes and said, “Let’s go in.”

They hadn’t been out for very long, but Sid was feeling tired and liked the idea of maybe building a fire and resting on the couch for a while before dinner. He followed Geno back to the dock. They shared a towel and dressed in their discarded clothes, shivering, and booked it back up to the house.

The light was fading. Sid draped his pelt over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and dragged it into the living room to dry beside the stove. Soon he had a fire crackling. The room smelled like firewood and smoke. He should start on dinner soon—Geno could barely cook and didn’t know where any of the pots and pans were anyway—but first he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, just for a minute. 

He woke to the feeling of a hand on his back, stroking lightly along his spine. But he was lying on his back: he was on his couch in the house on the lake, the big leather couch in the main room, and he had his hands folded over his stomach. He had been sleeping. 

“Geno?” he said faintly, craning his neck around.

Geno stood by the chair, his hand on Sid’s pelt—touching Sid’s pelt. He glanced up when Sid said his name. “Awake now? You want dinner?”

Sid turned onto his side so he could watch what Geno was doing. His tongue was dry and useless in his mouth. Geno ran his fingers over the damp fur, curiously touching the mottled dark spots on the side, like ink splashed across the lighter fur. Sid could feel every movement of his fingers like Geno was stroking his bare back. His skin prickled hard. Geno didn’t know what he was doing, he reminded himself; Geno wasn’t familiar with selkies. He just wanted to see what Sid’s fur felt like. He didn’t mean anything by it.

“Soft,” Geno said. He smiled at Sid. “You’re cute when you’re seal. Big eyes. Cute face like you’re smile.”

“Should have seen me as a pup,” Sid managed, and suppressed a shiver as Geno scratched through the ruff at the nape, a caress at the back of his neck. He needed Geno to stop without outright telling him to stop and having to explain why. “What do you want to eat? I’ll whip something up.”

“I cook already,” Geno said. He finally stopped pawing at Sid’s pelt to open the stove and add another log to the fire. “It’s ready soon, if you like to eat.”

“You cooked,” Sid said dubiously.

Geno turned to frown at him. “Why you say like that? Yes, I make fish and rice, salad. It’s not hard.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sid said, but then it turned out the food was pretty good, even though the rice was a little undercooked, and Geno had found Sid’s wine stash and opened a bottle. Sid put some music on and they ate by the fire and talked about the All-Star Game and who they thought Jim might move before the trade deadline. Outside, the winter night was cold and dark, but the house was warm and bright, and Geno’s laughter filled every corner. It was a good evening.

* * *

Sid woke still feeling frigid water in his lungs. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, coughing and gagging, convinced he was about to vomit seawater. He didn’t, because he wasn’t really drowning; he had been dreaming. He was in his bed.

He flopped over onto his back. The house was quiet and dark in the middle of the night. His heart pounded. He lay there for a few minutes, hoping he would fall back asleep. Then he got up and pulled on a sweatshirt and went downstairs.

The only light came from the stove, the last few embers still glowing through the night, and the moonlight coming through the windows. He sat at the breakfast nook in the kitchen and looked out toward the dark lake. The moon was high and bright and washed the yard in pale light. 

During the worst of his concussion, the worst, darkest days when he couldn’t drive or watch TV or even spend much time sitting upright, he had wondered if he would ever feel normal again, or even feel good enough to leave the house on a regular basis. He was starting to feel the same creeping doubt now. He trusted his dad and Jerry, but what if they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him? He might go on feeling like this forever, too sick to play hockey, too tired to do much more than sleep. And what kind of life was that?

He went back upstairs. At the threshold of his bedroom, he hesitated for a moment, and then he went down the hall to the guest room where Geno was sleeping. The door was closed, but it opened soundlessly on its hinges. Geno had opened the curtains, and the moonlight sketched the shape of his body, curled on his side with a pillow hugged in his arms. 

“Geno,” Sid whispered. “Hey, Geno.” Geno was a notoriously light sleeper, the bane of roommates and airplane seatmates alike. He didn’t stir at Sid’s whisper, though. Sid padded into the room and grabbed Geno’s foot through the blankets, a handful of his long knobbly toes. “Hey, G.”

Geno woke with a snort and a start and said something in Russian. He pushed up onto one elbow and rubbed at his eyes. “Sid?”

“I had a bad dream,” Sid said, feeling like a little kid, but also soothed already by Geno’s presence. “Could I…?”

Geno grunted and flipped the blankets back, revealing the soft warm space beside him in the bed. “Get in. Sleep here.”

“Thanks, G,” Sid whispered. He took off his sweatshirt and climbed in. When he pulled the covers up over his body, a deep sense of safety and peace settled over him. Geno rustled around a little and then settled. Sid closed his eyes.

He slept without dreaming until he woke the next morning. The bed beside him was empty, which was probably for the best. Sunlight streamed through the window. He had slept late.

He went downstairs, following the sounds of human activity into the kitchen, where he found Geno washing something in the sink. Geno turned to him with a smile and said, “Food? Coffee?”

“Both, I guess,” Sid said, trying to ignore the way his heart and stomach were both doing something in response to the way Geno was looking at him. By the time they sat down to eat—eggs, toast, and fruit, perfectly serviceable—he was almost positive Geno wasn’t going to make him talk about sleeping together.

* * *

The day was sunny and bitterly cold. Sid texted his parents and took a quick shower before he and Geno headed out. They were going to meet his parents at Jerry’s clinic in Dartmouth and go from there.

Geno turned on the radio as they pulled out of the driveway and immediately started grinning. “Good song.”

“I don’t know it,” Sid said, grinning himself as Geno started singing along, like that would somehow clue Sid in.

They lapsed into silence. Geno turned up the car heater higher than Sid would have preferred, but he didn’t say anything about it. After Geno turned onto the highway that would take them into town, Sid said, “Thanks for doing all of this. I mean it. I don’t know how I would have gotten home otherwise.”

Geno shrugged without looking away from the road. “It’s fine. I tell you it’s not big deal.”

It _was_ a big deal, though; it was the biggest fucking deal, and he needed Geno to understand and quit trying to brush off Sid’s gratitude. He tried a different tack. It was hard and scary to say, but he forced the words out. “Obviously I wish the circumstances were different, but it’s been nice, uh. Showing you my home here, like. My house on the lake and where I grew up. And just. Hanging out,” he ended lamely, feeling the back of his neck heat up. He shouldn’t have said anything.

But Geno was looking at him now, repeated glances between the road and Sid’s face, and smiling a sweet pleased smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. “It’s nice to see. You always talk about, like: oh Canada, it’s best place, beautiful, people so nice. Now I see and I know it’s not true.”

“You’re a fucking dick,” Sid said, laughing, reaching over to smack Geno’s shoulder as Geno grinned. 

The song on the radio ended and a new one began. The music filled the quiet, gently and warmly. Sid looked out the window and thought about the weather and the passing trees. Then Geno said, “Maybe someday you come see Moscow.”

Sid turned to look at him. Geno was intent on the road, like the mostly empty highway took all of his attention. “I’d like that,” Sid said, and then since it was a morning for being brave, he added, “Maybe this summer. We could make some plans.”

“Yes,” Geno said. His gloved hands slid up the steering wheel until they touched at the top. He cast a smile at Sid. “Come visit.”

* * *

Jerry’s clinic was in downtown Dartmouth. He had the second floor above a yarn shop on Portland—also owned by a selkie, which cut down on the risk of gossip going around about who visited Jerry for treatment. The waiting room walls were decorated with faded photographs of the coastline, and the end tables were stacked high with decade-old copies of Canadian Living. “Oh, good, I can re-read that article about Easter brunch,” Sid’s mom said dryly as they sat down in the hard-backed plastic chairs.

They didn’t have to wait long. A woman emerged from the door to Jerry’s office, leading a squalling toddler by the hand. She offered a tight smile as she passed by. In a few more minutes, the door opened again and Jerry came out and said, “You’re all welcome to come back now.”

Jerry was about a decade older than Sid’s parents and bald as the proverbial egg. He shook hands with Geno and accepted Sid’s lame explanation that Geno was “a friend.” He asked how Taylor was doing and reminded Sid’s parents about an upcoming potluck. Then, the pleasantries done, they all took seats at Jerry’s desk.

“So,” Jerry said. He turned his legal pad to a blank page. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Sid went through the whole story again as Jerry took notes. Geno had stopped at Timmies on the way into town to get another cup of coffee, and he picked at the lid as Sid spoke, running his thumbnail underneath the hard plastic edge. Sid wondered what he was thinking. Geno glanced over and met his eyes and then glanced away.

“Well, it sounds like a curse,” Jerry said when Sid was finished, “although I don’t doubt your team cursebreaker’s abilities. Did you go swimming anywhere in the weeks before you started feeling ill?”

“Well—here,” Sid said. “I visited for Christmas. And I drove out to Maryland at the beginning of December when we had a day off and went in the Chesapeake.”

“Home for Christmas, eh,” Jerry said. “And you started having symptoms a few days after you left?”

Sid’s mom drew a breath. “Oh, Jerry. You think it’s from the fishing boats?”

“I should have thought of that,” Sid’s dad muttered ruefully.

Jerry shrugged. “Could be. I’ll have to examine him. Let’s go into the other room, Sid. I see you’re confused. I’ll explain while I take a look at you.”

Sid knew the routine by now, after a childhood of twice-yearly visits to Jerry for check-ups and the occasional troubleshooting when he picked up a bugaboo his dad couldn’t break. He followed Jerry into the exam room across the hall from his office and stripped down to his underwear and lay on the paper-covered exam table. The air in the room was cool but not cold, but he started shivering anyway. He wished he had asked Geno to come in with him, but that would have been weird.

Jerry opened and closed a few drawers, gathering the things he needed. “So, we’ve had a little bit of local drama here lately. Some of our kids started vandalizing fishing boats in the harbor. Stupid teenaged behavior. Chewing on cables and the like. Well, some of the fishermen got together and paid a guy to curse their boats.”

“You think I picked it up when I went swimming here over Christmas,” Sid said, his heart lifting. He had hung all of his hopes on Jerry being able to figure out what was wrong with him, and here was an answer, maybe.

“It’s possible,” Jerry said. “We’ve had a real mess of a time getting all of this sorted out. Here, lie down and I’ll look you over.”

He began by brushing the front of Sid’s body with a bough of spruce, starting at his feet and working up to his head. The stiff small bristles brought the blood to the surface and made any curses easier to read, but they also tickled fiercely at Sid’s midsection. He curled his toes hard to keep from flinching. 

When Sid had been thoroughly brushed, Jerry went over him with a diagnostic crystal, starting again at his feet. He said nothing about the results when he was finished, only set the crystal on the counter and said, “Turn over, please.” As Sid turned onto his belly, he saw that the crystal was still clear all through.

He closed his eyes as Jerry repeated the process on the back of his body. What was his next step if Jerry couldn’t find anything? Specialists in Vancouver or Boston, a painfully slow process of consultations, interventions that didn’t work, and hoping for the best. How long would he keep trying before he finally gave up on hockey? 

“Well, let’s see here,” Jerry said softly, running a second crystal over the soles of Sid’s feet. He pressed down as he ran it over Sid’s back and arms, digging into the muscle, searching for anything buried beneath the skin. 

The crystal made a quiet clink as Jerry set it beside the first one on the counter. Sid opened one eye to look. Clear.

“So,” Jerry said. “You can sit up. You brought your pelt?”

“Yeah, it’s right here,” Sid said. His pelt wasn’t usually included in checkups, but he’d brought it at Jerry’s request, and it was folded up with his clothes. He slid off the exam table to get it.

Jerry spread out the pelt on the exam table as Sid got dressed. The crystal Jerry ran over the pelt turned dark at once, almost before it touched the fur: a deep, cloudy gray, like the sky above the sea before a storm.

“Jesus,” Sid said, shocked by how quickly the curse came up, and how strong it was. No wonder he’d been feeling so shitty.

“That’s what I thought,” Jerry said with satisfaction. “Sid, I’ll need some of your hair and a few hours to confirm this is the same curse, but I’m almost positive it is. I’ve been in this business for a long time, and I can’t tell you how unusual it is to see a curse that only clings to the pelt and doesn’t go through to the skin.”

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” Sid said. “Never occurred to me to have someone look at my fur.”

“It took us a while to figure out what was going on,” Jerry said. “So many people were sick. Well, you’ll be better in a few days, hopefully. We got the fishermen to agree to lift the curse, so we’ll only have to break it on your end. Not too complicated.”

“And then I’ll feel better,” Sid said, trying to process this. He’d been preparing himself for his illness to go on indefinitely, and now it was almost over.

“In a few days,” Jerry repeated. He smiled at Sid. “Give me a few hours. I’ll call you this afternoon and let you know.”

“Great,” Sid said, still a little dazed. “That’s great.”

He went back across the hall to the office where his parents and Geno were waiting. They all looked over as he opened the door, their faces expectant.

“Good news,” Sid said.

* * *

His parents were pleased and relieved and insisted they all go out for lunch to celebrate. Geno was stony-faced and silent until he and Sid got in the car to drive the few blocks to the restaurant, at which point he put his head down on the steering wheel and drew a huge, shuddering breath.

“Hey, what’s up?” Sid said, a little alarmed. “G? If you don’t want to go to lunch—”

“It’s fine,” Geno said into his folded arms, muffled. He drew in another breath.

Cautiously, Sid reached over and set his hand on Geno’s shoulder, feeling his fingertips spark. “What’s going on, buddy? You’re making me kind of nervous, here.”

Geno groaned and sat up. He looked at Sid with shiny eyes and his lips pressed firmly together. He didn’t say anything.

“G,” Sid said uncertainly.

“You’re so sick,” Geno said. “I worry lots, okay? And now it’s—” He gestured toward his chest. “It’s lots of emotion.”

Sid stared at him, feeling reality shift sideways. He had known this trip was changing things between them, but he hadn’t expected Geno to say it like that, so bluntly, with tears in his eyes. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He squeezed Geno’s shoulder and said, “I’m gonna be okay, though. Probably. So nothing to worry about, eh?”

“No,” Geno said. He sniffed once and turned on the car.

They went to an Italian place on the waterfront that Sid’s mom liked. It was a little late for lunch, so they got a table right by the window and Sid got to enjoy Geno’s exclamations over the harbor view. Geno loved big cities and probably wouldn’t be too impressed with Halifax, but Sid wanted to be able to show him anyway, and right now he was just too sick. A table by the water would have to do.

Geno could be really charming and funny when he decided it was worth the effort, and he turned it on for Sid’s parents, telling stories about their drive out from Pittsburgh, like the confused truck stop cashier in New York who had been so bewildered by Geno’s accent that he’d forgotten to charge them for their sandwiches. Sid knew Geno had been bothered by the interaction—he was still so sensitive about his English—but there was no sign of it in the way he told the story now, and Sid’s mom laughed so much she clapped a hand over her mouth to try to quiet herself.

The food was good, and with Geno at his side, Sid was able to finish most of his ravioli. He had a feeling he would probably fall asleep in the car on the way home, but that was fine. Geno was probably used to his napping by now.

The meal wound down. Geno excused himself to use the washroom. When he was gone, Sid watched his parents exchange a look like they were speaking to each other with their eyes. Sid’s dad cleared his throat and said, “He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. He was the best. “Not sure what I would have done without him, to be honest with you.”

“Driving two thousand kilometers and back is a big gesture,” his mom said.

Sid squirmed in his seat a little. He could see where this conversation was heading, and he didn’t particularly want to have it, but he also didn’t want to lie to his parents about what they could clearly see was going on. “I’m starting to realize that,” he said.

Troy cleared his throat again. “Are the two of you—?”

“No,” Sid said. “It’s not—nothing like that. We’re just friends.” His parents kept looking at him. “That might change,” he admitted.

“He seems devoted to you,” his mom said gently.

Sid was pretty devoted to Geno, but he had only just begun to think of his feelings that way, and he didn’t want to jinx it by talking about it too soon. “I’ll let you know when there’s something to know about, okay? I promise.”

“Well, we both like him very much,” Trina said, as Troy nodded his agreement. “So let me know when we can expect grandkids.”

“Mom,” Sid groaned, as they both laughed at him, and he was still a little flushed by the time Geno came back to the table.

* * *

Jerry called a couple of hours after Sid and Geno got home, after Sid had woken from a nap but before he had bothered to get off the couch. The news was exactly what they had all hoped for: it was the fishermen’s curse that Jerry had described, and he would be able to break it the next day. “I’d like your dad’s help, if he’s willing,” Jerry said. “Make things a little easier. I’ll clear my schedule for the morning and I imagine we’ll be done in time for lunch.”

“That’s—that’s great news, Jerry, thanks,” Sid said, forcing the words out through his tight throat. He was so fucking relieved and grateful. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Geno appeared in the doorway when Sid hung up. He was eating a piece of bread with cheese on it. “So?”

“He can break the curse,” Sid said, feeling the foolish smile stretching his face. “Tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be well enough to play in the All-Star Game. That’d be something, eh?”

“Oh, Sid,” Geno said, his own smile spreading. “It’s great news. Soon you’re well. Then it’s hockey again.”

“Hockey again,” Sid said. “Yeah. God, I can’t wait.”

They spent a quiet afternoon and evening at home, watching TV and making dinner. There was some hockey on after dinner and after a brief debate they settled on watching the Sharks-Capitals game. It went to OT, which was late enough with the time difference that Sid was ready for bed immediately after. He went around to lock up and turn off the lights and then lingered awkwardly in the living room at the foot of the stairs, ready to go up but also not ready yet. Geno had stretched out full-length on the couch and was watching a different hockey game: Flames-Canes, just getting started out west. 

“You go sleep?” Geno asked without looking away from the TV.

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Would you—” He stopped.

He had Geno’s attention now. “Hmm?”

“I know this is weird,” Sid said. “But I sleep better with you in the room. No nightmares. If you don’t mind, uh.”

Geno’s steady gaze was fixed on him. “You want me to sleep with you.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “If you’re okay with that.”

Geno watched him for a few moments as Sid struggled to keep his expression impassive. Then he said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Going into Geno’s room in the middle of the night was really different from going upstairs with Geno with the intention of sleeping in the same bed. It felt more deliberate. Geno went to the guest room first to change into his pajamas, and Sid was shirtless when he came into the bedroom, and it was just—different. To have Geno watching him as he changed into sleep shorts. To have Geno climbing into the other side of the bed and turning on the lamp.

The bed was big enough for them both to settle in comfortably without touching at all. Sid arranged his pillows and tucked the duvet into place the way he liked it, snug around his legs. “You can stay up, if you want,” he said. “I know it’s still early. The light won’t bother me.”

“Okay,” Geno said. He was sitting up against the headboard with his phone in one hand. The smile he gave Sid made Sid’s belly clench. “Hope you sleep good.”

“Thanks, G,” Sid said. His eyelids were already feeling heavy. “Night.”

He woke once in the night to piss. Geno was snoring softly, and the sound lulled Sid right back to sleep. Otherwise he hardly stirred until morning when the gray light coming through the windows finally woke him for good.

Geno was still in the bed beside him, wrapped up in the duvet with only his head and his hands poking out as he typed on his phone. Sid’s heart swelled until he thought it might pop and overflow. Geno had stayed with him all night and was still here, warm and sleepy beneath the covers, waiting for Sid to wake up.

“Hey, G,” Sid said, in his croaky morning voice.

Geno glanced at him with a smile and turned to set his phone on the nightstand. “Awake now? You want breakfast?”

“Soon,” Sid said. He didn’t really want to get up quite yet.

Geno turned toward him, repositioning to lie on his side facing Sid. He tucked the duvet beneath his chin. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Really well, actually. I think you helped.”

Geno’s eyes crinkled. “I’m best sleep.”

“You are,” Sid said. They looked at each other for a moment. Geno wasn’t making any moves to get up, which made Sid wonder if Geno felt the same way he did, like nothing in the world could be better than lying here together in the winter light, safe and close. Geno’s expression was one Sid had been seeing a lot lately, an open, gentle expression. Sid let himself think it: tender.

If Geno were his—Sid let himself think it: if Geno were his boyfriend. If Geno were his boyfriend, Sid would buy the kind of pillow Geno liked for his bed, and stock his fridge with yogurt, and keep the pool filled all year so Geno could go swimming whenever he liked. He would take good care of Geno, the way Geno had taken care of him. He would get to see Geno like this every morning, or near enough, and listen to his snoring every night. It would be a good, deep love.

Geno was still watching him. Sid braced himself and took the plunge, ignoring the way his heart was racing. “You know,” he said, “I was sort of, uh. I _have_ been having nightmares. But I sort of used that as an excuse because I wanted you to sleep with me.”

The slow pink flush that bloomed in Geno’s cheeks made Sid’s heart throb even harder in his chest. Geno shifted a little closer beneath the covers. “Sid, uh,” he said.

Sid made his own shift, a few centimeters into the empty span of mattress between them. “I’ve really enjoyed having you here.” In his house, in his bed. He wouldn’t say that yet.

“I like to be here,” Geno said. He had gotten a hold of himself; his blush was fading. The sweet, hopeful look on his face lingered. He pushed up onto one elbow and shuffled closer.

Sid stretched out his legs beneath the covers until his toes brushed against Geno’s shins. “The last few weeks—I guess it’s changed some things for me.”

“What things,” Geno said.

“I guess—the way I feel about you,” Sid said, and totally lost his patience then and reached out to grab a fistful of Geno’s T-shirt. “Will you come here already?”

“I’m here,” Geno said. He shifted in until his knees were pressed to Sid’s, crackling gently. Braced on his one arm, he carefully cupped Sid’s cheek with his other hand. “It’s change for me, too, Sid.”

“Come _here_,” Sid said, and Geno laughed at him and finally, finally bent his head and kissed the corner of Sid’s mouth.

His stubble was a gentle prickle against Sid’s skin. Sid closed his eyes and turned his head to kiss Geno full on the mouth, his dry chapped lips that he chewed on when he was nervous, his sweet mouth that had learned to speak Sid’s language. Brash, loyal Geno who had come all this way for him. Sid wanted to give that back to him every chance he had for the rest of their lives.

“Oh, Sid,” Geno whispered, kissing Sid again and again, letting Sid kiss him, tangling their legs together. His thumb stroked over Sid’s cheekbone. He said something in Russian that Sid was almost certain was an embarrassing pet name, but Sid wasn’t going to pick a fight about it now. He hooked his arm around the back of Geno’s neck and held him as close as he could.

* * *

Geno smiled at the road the whole way into Dartmouth. From time to time he glanced over at Sid and his smile widened. Sid didn’t want to distract him from driving—Geno was enough of a hazard as it was—but he gave in for a few minutes on the empty highway and set his hand on Geno’s thigh. He was smiling just as much and couldn’t seem to stop.

His parents met them at the clinic and they all trooped upstairs, where Jerry was waiting. He offered them coffee and donuts, and after some eating and small talk they all went back into the exam room. Jerry had pulled the table out from the wall to make room to stand around it and laid out all the things they would need, a spruce bough and a bowl of ashes, a second bowl of distilled water. 

“Ready?” Jerry said to Sid’s dad, who nodded.

Geno, lingering in the doorway, said, “Let me help.” Everyone turned to look at him, and he drew his shoulders toward his ears and said, “I’m magic.”

After a quick glance at Sid for his approval, Jerry said, “That would be a big help. Thank you.”

Sid undressed and lay on his back on the table. His dad stood at his feet, with Jerry at his right side and Geno at his left. His mom couldn’t help—like Sid, she had no magic—and sat watchfully by the door.

“Let’s begin,” Jerry said.

He began by brushing Sid’s body with the spruce bough. Sid watched Geno the whole time and Geno watched him back, smiling a little. He had one hand on Sid’s shoulder and the other in the crook of Sid’s elbow, and he squeezed Sid’s arm gently. Soon Sid would be well, and he and Geno would go back to Pittsburgh and do—anything; whatever they wanted. Despite all the trouble and worry and inconvenience, Sid was glad he’d gotten sick because now he got to kiss Geno.

Jerry set the bough aside. “Let’s do our hands now,” he said, and he and Troy and Geno all dipped their hands in the bowl of ashes, coating their palms. “Now,” Jerry said, and they laid their hands on Sid, and he was gone immediately, plunged into the current of their joined magic like slipping into a riptide.

He was buffeted about in the current, but he wasn’t afraid. He was carried along and supported by his dad’s familiar uncomplicated workmanlike magic, and Jerry’s more practiced efforts, and the cool touch of Geno’s magic, deep and swift as a mountain river, riotous and dark. Sid felt the three of them struggling for a moment to mesh their saltwater and freshwater magics, but then they had it, and they were working together and burrowing in to find the source of the curse in him and wipe it clean.

It took time. Sid could feel them probing at the curse, his dad and Geno providing the power and Jerry delicately chipping away at the spell’s framework. Sid drifted into a trance and dreamed about the ocean. It wasn’t a nightmare but a peaceful dream about swimming. The water was cold and he was diving deep, searching for octopus, down in the calm dim black of the coastal shelf. He felt safe.

“Sid,” he heard someone saying. A hand shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes. There was Geno, smiling down at him. “Sid, how you feel?”

Sid sat up slowly. His dad draped a blanket over his shoulders, and Sid wrapped it around himself. He was chilled and wiped out, like he’d played a full sixty minutes. But he could tell the curse was gone, like a black fog that had been clinging to him for weeks had blown away.

“I feel pretty good,” he said, and his dad said, “Oh thank God,” and pulled him into a hug.

* * *

They ate a few more celebratory donuts, and then Geno drove Sid home, because Sid did feel better but he also felt like he needed to spend a few hours lying down. He hugged his parents and promised he would try to come for dinner that night, and shook Jerry’s hand and thanked him, and then they went home.

Sid napped a little in the car, but it felt like healing, restorative sleep, not the dense inescapable fatigue he’d been battling for the past weeks. He woke when Geno slowed to go through the gate and yawned and rubbed his eyes and felt _better_. Like a few nights of good sleep would set him to rights again.

“Hungry?” Geno asked as the gate rolled open. “You want lunch?”

“I’ll even cook,” Sid said. “How about that, eh? Hope you got some good stuff at the store.”

“I get best,” Geno said, mock-offended, and he really had done a pretty good job: fish and salad greens and fresh fruit, and Sid was able to throw together a decent meal without much effort. Geno put his feet in Sid’s lap as they ate, totally nonchalant, like they’d been doing it for years. Only the faint pink stain on his cheeks gave him away. 

“I’m gonna go lay down for a while,” Sid said as they cleaned up after lunch. “Maybe take a nap.” He raised his eyebrows at Geno. “You know. If you felt like keeping me company.”

“Hmm, but I’m not tired,” Geno said, and then grinned at Sid’s expression and said, “but maybe we lie down a little bit.”

They went upstairs together and undressed in Sid’s bedroom. Every time Sid got into bed with Geno was different from the time before, and he wondered what the time after this would be like. Assuming there was a next time. He felt pretty confident there would be.

Last night he had kept his shirt and sweatpants on, but this time he stripped down to his underwear and kept going. He didn’t know if they were going to have sex and wasn’t sure he would even be up for much, but he at least wanted to get naked together and do some kissing and maybe grope Geno a little. He glanced up as he stepped out of his briefs and Geno was watching him with parted lips, his own hands motionless at the hem of his T-shirt.

“Let me see you,” Sid said quietly, and Geno grinned and pulled off his shirt.

No polite distance was maintained this time. Geno joined Sid beneath the covers and snuggled in, pulling Sid into his arms so they were all wrapped together. He dropped a kiss to Sid’s shoulder and then spent some time nuzzling into Sid’s neck, kissing him gently while Sid enjoyed the feeling of Geno’s big warm body pressed against his and stroked his hand over Geno’s hip and lower back. He could probably fall asleep like this.

“Sid,” Geno whispered into his neck, and then abruptly rolled them so Sid was on his back. Geno propped himself on his elbows and gazed down at Sid, hopeful and tender.

Sid reached up to touch his cheek and stroke a stray piece of hair from his forehead. “I wish I felt better. I’m not being very good company for you. Wish I could show you around, you know, show you the sights.”

“I don’t care.” Geno ducked his head for a quick kiss. “We come back in summer, you show me then.”

“Oh, on our way to Moscow, eh,” Sid said, and he was only teasing, but Geno said, perfectly seriously, “Yes, it’s good plan,” and Sid had to pull him down for another kiss.

Their kisses started dry and sweet, like they had been that morning. But Sid couldn’t resist pressing for more, running his tongue over Geno’s lip in a silent request that Geno responded to without hesitation. The deep, heated kisses they shared then set Sid’s blood pounding. He hadn’t thought he would have the energy for anything, but his thighs parted around Geno’s hips and he could feel Geno getting hard against his belly as they kissed, and maybe he was in the mood for this after all.

“Sid,” Geno whispered against his ear, rubbing restlessly against him. “Let me suck you.”

Sid groaned and slid his hands down Geno’s back, clutching at the soft flesh above his hips. “That’s what you want?”

“I love to suck cock,” Geno whispered to him. “My favorite.”

Sid groaned again. He hadn’t ever imagined he’d have Geno murmuring those words in his ear, maybe not intentionally seductive but pretty fucking seductive nonetheless. “If that’s what you want, I mean. Knock yourself out.”

Geno sat up and grinned. He was really a sight, with his hair all messed up from Sid’s hands and his hard dick bobbing between his thighs. Was it too soon to have sex with someone he’d only kissed for the first time that morning? Sid didn’t care. Geno seemed all for it, and why not? They were both grownups who had been having sex for more than a decade. There was nothing new about it except that it was with Geno.

Geno moved down the bed. Sid wasn’t fully hard yet, but Geno had sounded so eager that Sid thought he would get right to it. Instead Geno started by stroking Sid’s thighs and kissing his hips and abdomen, ignoring his dick completely. It felt nice, a shivery sensation as Geno ran his fingers lightly over the insides of Sid’s thighs, spreading rivulets of tickling sparks, and then it felt better than nice. Sid squirmed a little, hoping Geno would move things along. He didn’t. He started sucking a hickey on Sid’s thigh.

Sid lifted his head to check on Geno’s progress, expecting to see Geno smirking up at him, delighting in being a tease. But Geno’s eyes were closed; he seemed totally intent on what he was doing.

Okay. Sid recalibrated. He relaxed back against the pillow. They were taking the scenic route.

Finally satisfied with his hickey, Geno shifted to nose at the base of Sid’s dick, breathing in and groaning deep in his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to the shaft. “So pink,” he said, low. “Beautiful. Smell so good.”

Cautiously, Sid settled one hand on Geno’s head. His hair was so soft. “Good,” Geno said. He kissed Sid’s dick again, right below the crown, and then licked softly over the head.

Sid ran his fingers through Geno’s hair as Geno lapped at him, soft little licks with the flat of his tongue. It felt really good, but Geno clearly wasn’t in a rush; he just wanted to nose around and slowly drive Sid crazy. Sid’s patience was finally rewarded in another minute when Geno wrapped his hand around the shaft to lift Sid’s dick from his belly and take Sid into his mouth.

Geno went _all_ the way down, a hot tight wet slide until his lips closed around the base of Sid’s dick. Sid managed not to grab his hair, but it was a close call. “Geno, _fuck_,” he swore, lifting his head incredulously to look at Geno deep-throating him like a pro. What a fucking sight that was, Geno’s flushed face and his pink mouth stretched wide.

Geno pulled off and glanced up and did smirk then. “You like?”

“You’re incredible,” Sid said, and the smugness left Geno’s expression, leaving only a pleased sweetness. Sid scratched his fingers against Geno’s scalp, trying to convey his fondness through that touch, how much he appreciated Geno and wanted to deserve him. 

“I’m tell you I like,” Geno said, and he went down again and swallowed around Sid’s cock, and then pulled off and started up with the nuzzling again. He moved down between Sid’s legs to spend a few minutes kissing and licking at his sac, more attention than anyone had ever paid to Sid’s balls. He used his hand to push them out of the way and licked behind them, his tongue sliding wonderfully over the smooth stretch of Sid’s taint. 

Sid tensed, because if Geno got the bright idea to start licking his asshole, this would be over way too fast. But Geno got the message and backed off and sucked wet kisses in the crease of Sid’s groin instead, which was nice but not what Sid wanted. He wanted Geno to go down on him again and make him come.

Geno had his own agenda, though. Sid liked sucking dick, but he was mainly in it for the other guy’s reaction. It bothered his jaw sometimes, and he wasn’t thrilled about the taste of come. But Geno seemed to relish the whole sensory experience, the smell and taste and Sid’s hands in his hair, and he wasn’t in any hurry.

It was the slowest, least focused blowjob of Sid’s life, and probably the best. Geno nosed around and kissed and licked at random, never in any pattern that Sid could settle into. All he could do was lie back and let the slow waves of pleasure roll through him. Everything Geno did felt good, and Sid just kind of floated in it like a gentle surf and basked in the warm glow in his belly. If Geno wanted to stay down there for an hour, that was fine with Sid.

At last Geno started to ramp things up. He went from sucking gently on the head of Sid’s dick to really going for it, bobbing his head and working the shaft with his hand, and from time to time going down all the way and swallowing around Sid’s dick, his throat a hot squeeze. After the long, slow buildup, Sid slammed immediately into the quivery-thighed tension of impending orgasm. He hadn’t thought he was close at all, but Geno had worked him over so well that he was right there, right on the edge.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he said, still petting through Geno’s hair. “You want me to come in your mouth?”

Geno’s only response was a muffled moan. He pulled off to jack Sid with his hand and mouth at his balls, panting, and then he went back to sucking Sid off with _intent_, messy with spit, his hand and mouth working together. Sid’s toes curled in the sheets as he got closer, and he felt it build and build until he hit the peak and spilled into Geno’s eager mouth.

As the first shudders faded, he dragged his eyes open to watch Geno swallow his come. Geno pulled off at the end and let the final spurt dribble down his chin, holding eye contact with Sid as he did it. It was such a practiced, deliberate move that Sid wanted to roll his eyes, but it was also really hot. Geno knew what worked for him.

Sid tugged gently on Geno’s hair. “C’mere,” he said, and Geno moved up the bed to kiss him. Sid held him in place and licked the come from his chin and smiled against Geno’s mouth as Geno squirmed on top of him, grinding his cock against Sid’s hip. He felt warm and relaxed and really good, and also really ready to pass out. But he didn’t want to leave Geno hanging.

“Sit up,” he said. “Let me see you.” He tugged at Geno’s hair again. “Will you? I want to see how hard that got you.”

Geno sat up. His dick was red and so hard the skin looked tight. He pressed it against his belly, biting his lip. “Sid, can I…?”

“Anything,” Sid said, “as long as I can just lie here,” and Geno laughed and shifted to straddle Sid’s waist.

Geno jerked himself off with a quick, rough hand, his other hand running over Sid’s chest and shoulder. He looked so good. Sid loved his fat cock and his pale belly and his dark nipples, his long limbs and his big hands, the flush spreading down his chest as he worked himself over. Sid cupped his softly furred balls and Geno groaned and thrust into his own fist, a clear drop of pre-come oozing from the crown of his cock.

“When I’m feeling better,” Sid said, “we can do anything you want, we can—I don’t know what you like, but we’ll do it.”

“Yes,” Geno said. “You—ah, Sid,” his hips snapping forward, and he hunched over to brace himself on Sid’s shoulder and cried out and milked his come onto Sid’s bare chest.

“Thanks for that,” Sid said. Geno grinned and bent down to kiss him.

* * *

Sid woke up with his face smashed against Geno’s bare hip. He yawned and blinked a few times, orienting himself. The light in the room hadn’t changed much; he probably hadn’t slept for long.

Geno’s hand settled on his head and stroked through his hair, making Sid’s scalp prickle wonderfully. “You awake now?”

“I think so.” Sid turned over onto his back. Geno was sitting up against the headboard, still naked, holding his phone. “Hi.”

Geno smiled at him. “Hi, Sid.” His hand cupped Sid’s ear and the side of his skull. “How you feel?”

“Like I need to sleep a lot more,” Sid said. “Think I’ll text my parents and tell them we aren’t coming for dinner tonight.”

“Good,” Geno said. “You sleep, feel better.” 

“Yeah.” Sid turned onto his side again and slung an arm over Geno’s hips, nestling in. He closed his eyes and drifted for a few minutes, listening to Geno’s quiet huffs as he responded to whatever he was looking at on his phone. Then a thought came to him, floating to the surface of his mind like a water bubble, and he said, “Does anyone know you’re a vodyanoy?”

“Hmm.” Geno turned to set his phone on the nightstand. “Parents. Gennady. That’s all.”

“Not Gonch?” Sid asked. “Max?”

“No,” Geno said. “Why, you tell everyone about you?”

“No. Nobody in Pittsburgh knows. Except you, now.”

“You see,” Geno said. “Why I tell? It’s secret, it’s magic. I play hockey, so who cares if I’m vodyanoy?”

“I care,” Sid said. He tightened his hand against Geno’s far hip, a gentle squeeze. “I like it. That we have this in common. I mean, not that I’m a vodyanoy. You know.”

Geno bent over, folding almost in two, to kiss Sid’s temple. “I know.” He sat up again. “I think it’s nice, like, now we don’t hide.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. It _was_ nice. He liked being able to share this with Geno. “Where do you go swimming during the season? That pond near your house?”

Geno nodded. “It’s why I buy there. The water maybe isn’t—it’s kind of, I forget word. Like, little plants?”

“Algae?” Sid guessed. “Pond scum?”

“Maybe,” Geno said. “But it’s okay. It’s nice it’s close so I can like, go swim after practice.”

“Way better than the cold tub, eh,” Sid said, and Geno laughed. 

A quiet minute passed. Geno rubbed his fingers against Sid’s scalp and ran his thumb over Sid’s ear. He said, “Sid, it’s big change for us if we do this.”

“Like, be together?” Sid said to clarify, and Geno nodded. “Yeah. But I think it’s a good change, you know? It feels right. Is that dumb?”

“No,” Geno said. He gazed down at Sid. “I think about a little, you know, like. Not serious, but I know you’re creature, and I think, like, what if I ask, what if we talk about, then we’re more close, and maybe—” His eyes crinkled. “Maybe you let me suck your dick.”

“I would’ve,” Sid said. “At any point. I never thought about it, but that was on purpose.”

“It’s best time now, I think,” Geno said. “We old now. We know each other.”

Sid’s eyes watered sharply. They _did_ know each other. He pressed his face against Geno’s hip. That knowing would only get deeper and richer over time, like diving down to the bottom of the lake and seeing what lay down there in the dark. Wonders.

“I’m glad everything happened,” he said. “Because of this.” He kissed Geno’s hip and squeezed his eyes tight to force the tears away before he glanced up at Geno’s face. “Can you pass me my phone? I’m gonna text my parents about dinner. And then I think I might pass out again.”

“Sleep,” Geno said. His thumb traced the outer edge of Sid’s ear. “It’s good for you. I make dinner. Then sleep more.”

“All right,” Sid said. He accepted his phone when Geno handed it to him, and then caught Geno’s hand to press a kiss to the base of his palm. “Thanks, G.”

Geno said something soft in Russian. Sid yawned and unlocked his phone.

* * *

He slept until dinner, woke long enough to eat, and then slept again until the next morning. The sun was streaming through the windows when he woke up, and the bed was empty beside him, although he could still see the dent in the pillow from Geno’s head. Geno had found Post-It notes somewhere and left one on the pillowcase. He’d drawn a smiley face with hearts for eyes. Sid touched the small square of paper and didn’t bother fighting his smile. Before he went downstairs, he folded the note in half and tucked it inside his wallet.

Geno had made a fire, and they spent the morning puttering around in the kitchen and living room, drinking coffee and eating breakfast one component at a time, trading kisses and touches. Sid would have stayed in all day and tried to lure Geno back to bed, but he had a follow-up appointment with Jerry, and knew his parents would really kill him if he didn’t stop by for at least an hour or two. Duty called.

He spent some time looking at flights before they headed out, because he was supposed to be in San Jose the next evening for the skills competition. He could make it if he flew out first thing in the morning. He could have one final day with Geno.

“I’ll drive,” he said as they walked out to the car, and grinned at Geno’s skeptical look, and took the keys from his hand. “I’m feeling better.”

“You crash, it’s not my fault,” Geno said.

Sid didn’t crash. He felt fine as they drove into Dartmouth, and after a quick but careful examination, Jerry agreed the curse had been lifted. “I think you’ll live,” he said to Sid with a smile. “You might have symptoms recur over the next week. That’s normal. If it lasts for longer than a week, call me. But I think you’re cured.”

“Oh, Sid,” Geno said as they left the clinic, his hand wrapped around Sid’s wrist. “You better.”

“I’m better,” Sid said, and he stopped at the bottom of the stairs to grab Geno’s coat and pull him down into a quick kiss that turned slower and hotter until Geno pushed him away, laughing, and said, “Maybe not here.”

“Yeah.” Sid straightened the collar of Geno’s coat. “Let me take you for lunch. Sushi. Best place in Halifax.”

“Sushi? Okay, yes,” Geno said.

They left the car in Dartmouth and took the ferry across the harbor into Halifax. Sid didn’t usually, because it took a little longer and he tended to get recognized, but it seemed like something Geno might enjoy. The ferry wasn’t crowded at this time of day, and it was warm enough that they could sit out on the top deck and watch the city come closer, and the deep blue of the harbor with the sun glinting off the water. It was a beautiful day.

“Nice,” Geno said quietly, sitting close enough to Sid that their shoulders pressed firmly together. 

“I love it here,” Sid said. “Being near the water. Summers are unbelievable. It’s home, eh? You know.”

“Yes,” Geno said. “So you show me next summer.”

“And then I’ll go to Russia,” Sid said. “So you can show me.”

Geno smiled at him sidelong. “It’s big plans we make.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a good feeling about you,” Sid said.

The sushi place he had in mind was only a few blocks from the ferry terminal. They walked. Sid wanted to take Geno all over Halifax and show him the sights and take him out deep-sea fishing and suck his dick every night, but they didn’t have time. They’d have time in Pittsburgh, though, to get to know each other in this new way. He was really excited.

There weren’t any sushi places in Halifax as fancy as Nobu, but the fish was as fresh as it came, and Sid couldn’t imagine Geno would be disappointed. Geno ordered his usual array of nigiri and sampled one of each, chewing thoughtfully as he stared at Sid with narrowed eyes. Sid stared back, refusing to crumble. Sure enough, Geno finally swallowed the piece of yellowtail he’d been working on and said, “It’s very good.”

“Canada best,” Sid said, and broke his chopsticks to get to work.

Sushi wasn’t his favorite, but he liked a good fusion roll, and watching Geno enjoy the hell out of his raw fish was its own pleasure. They got beers. Geno finished his nigiri and ordered a few hand rolls. Sid just really liked to be with him, talking about nothing much in particular, laughing a lot. He always laughed a lot with Geno.

“So, we should talk about something,” he said, while they were waiting for the hand rolls to arrive. “Nothing bad. But I’ve gotta leave tomorrow morning to make it for the All-Star Game. I bought plane tickets earlier.”

Geno shrugged. “Yes, okay. I leave too, drive back to Pittsburgh, see you Sunday.”

“No, that’s the thing,” Sid said. “Don’t drive back by yourself, that sucks. Just leave the car here. My parents can drive it out. I’ve got the Tesla at home. You should fly back, don’t spend two days driving.”

“I don’t mind,” Geno said. He fiddled with his chopsticks wrapper. “Maybe—it’s like, be alone, have time to think. It’s lots that’s happen, you know?”

“In a good way, though,” Sid said, half a question. He thought it was good, but maybe Geno was having second thoughts.

But Geno smiled at him and put those fears to rest before they could get a good foothold. “Of course it’s good. But still it’s a lot.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Sid said. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“Then I see you Sunday,” Geno said. “I come get you from airport.”

“I’ll land really early. Red eye. That sucks. I’ll take a cab.”

“I come get you,” Geno said again, and Sid’s stomach did a slow sweet tumble as he had the thought that this was how it was going to be from now on: Geno taking care of him and letting himself be cared for in return. If he needed a ride to the airport, he’d have one. If Geno got sick, he’d make as many drug store runs as he had to. If Geno needed comfort, he’d offer everything he had to give. They would be a matched pair.

When the check arrived, Sid snagged it before Geno could. “My treat,” he said, when Geno raised his eyebrows. “It was my idea.” He dropped his voice a little. “It’s a date, eh? Let me spoil you a little.”

That was the right thing to say: Geno liked being pampered. “Okay, yes, buy for me,” he said, smug now, which was cute. Sid tapped his feet against Geno’s beneath the table. Geno smiled at him.

* * *

He wanted to take Geno out to the coast, just to see it, and Geno shrugged and said that was fine. It wasn’t far: twenty minutes from where they’d left the car out to Silver Sands or maybe Rainbow Haven. There were better beaches south of the city, but that was more of a drive; he’d wait for the summer.

“You go swim?” Geno asked as Sid drove out along the shoreline toward Eastern Passage.

“Oh—I hadn’t thought about it,” Sid said, which was kind of a lie; he was always thinking about swimming. He’d brought his pelt to Jerry’s and still had it around his waist. But he didn’t want to bore Geno by making him wait on the beach while Sid fucked around in the water. 

“No ocean in Pittsburgh,” Geno said. “I think you should do.”

“If you don’t mind,” Sid said, already mentally resetting his destination.

A selkie couple owned a house near Cow Bay and let all the local selkies use their driveway for beach access. There was a hut to change in so you didn’t have to leave your clothes lying out on the rocks. You still had to watch for boats and people walking along the beach, but it was the most secluded access you could get this close to town, and everyone took the risk. Sid wasn’t surprised to see another car in the driveway when he pulled in: someone else going out for a swim.

Even with the sun out, it was a chilly naked walk from the little hut to the edge of the water where he could shift and go in. But as soon as he slipped into the waves, he forgot the cold and the lingering weakness he was trying to ignore and was only purely happy.

As much as he would have liked to swim out around the headland into the open water of the Atlantic, he stayed close to the shore as a reminder to himself not to abandon Geno. There were stories about selkies who lost themselves in the sea and never came back to shore. Sid wasn’t too worried about that; he loved his life on land. It was easy to lose track of time in the water, though, and he didn’t want to leave Geno cooling his heels for too long. He looked for Geno every time he came up for air, and Geno waved at him from the shore every time, clearly watching the water for Sid’s head to surface. Sid wouldn’t swim away and leave him.

He swam back in before too long. When he waded ashore, dripping and naked, Geno looked him up and down and waggled his eyebrows before wrapping Sid in one of the towels he kept in the car. “Nice swim?”

“For sure.” Sid leaned into the warm circle of Geno’s arms, shivering a little. “Always good to be in the water.”

Geno pressed a kiss to Sid’s temple. “I know,” he said, and the thing was, he really did. Sid would never have to try to explain how it felt to slide into the water for the first time in a month, or the longing he felt when he’d been away from the sea. Geno understood.

They went to his parents’ house for an hour of socializing and eating his mom’s coffee cake. Sid couldn’t take his eyes off Geno and thought it was probably pretty obvious, but his parents didn’t say anything. They made some tentative plans to fly down for a week in February, when the team had a few games in a row at home. Sid was glad to have Taylor working in Pittsburgh for a lot of reasons, but one of them was that he didn’t have to worry as much about neglecting his parents when they were in town.

When the coffee cake was gone and the hour was up, Sid made their excuses. He was tired, he said, which was technically true, but mostly he wanted to go home and take Geno to bed. He gave Sam a thorough belly rub, and hugged both of his parents, and they slowly made their way out to the car with more hugging and hand-shaking and promises to visit soon. 

“Okay,” he said as he finally pulled out of the driveway. “We’re going back to the house and having sex.”

Geno started laughing. “Oh? What if I don’t want?”

Sid shot him a look. “Then you can wait downstairs while I jack off.”

“Let me watch,” Geno said, his tongue sliding along his lower lip, and Sid pressed a little harder on the gas.

He kissed Geno in the driveway and again on the front stoop, and most of the way up the stairs as they bumped into the handrail and laughed and razzed each other, goofy as kids. Sid was just really happy. 

He had vague plans of the kind of sex that took lube or at least a lot of spit and patience, but when they got in bed they just ended up making out and rolling around and groping each other, and it was so good Sid didn’t want to stop and do anything else. Geno pulled him on top and kissed him and got two big handfuls of Sid’s ass and used his grip to urge Sid into a rhythm, grinding their bodies together.

“Oh yeah?” Sid pushed up onto his hands for better leverage. Geno was flushed beneath him and looked heavy-lidded and eager. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Geno said, parting his thighs to give Sid better access. “Okay, kiss me.”

Sid kissed him and rubbed against him, dry and a little sticky, a hot friction he liked more than he had expected. He hadn’t done anything like this in years—he liked anal, both giving and taking, and mostly did that when he had a guy in his bed—but Geno was warm and noisy and Sid got into it. They laughed a lot and made a huge mess. As sex went, it was pretty great.

Even better was after they rinsed off in the shower and got back in bed for a while, to lie close together and watch highlights on Geno’s phone. Sid dozed a little and woke again to find Geno stroking his hair and watching him with a gentle expression.

Sid licked his dry lips. “I was dreaming about swimming with you.”

“We swim together lots,” Geno said. 

“I’m not swimming in your algae pond,” Sid said, and Geno dropped his head into the crook of Sid’s neck and laughed and kissed him there. They didn’t get up until it was time to go downstairs to make dinner.

* * *

Geno took him to the airport the next morning not at the crack of dawn but even earlier, when it was still fully dark out. It wasn’t an hour Sid saw too often, and he wasn’t thrilled about the early wakeup or the long day of travel ahead of him, almost twelve hours and three flights. But he was grateful for the darkness when he leaned across the car at passenger drop-off and kissed Geno. He would see Geno again in two days, but that seemed like a really long time.

Geno seemed to feel the same way, because he cupped Sid’s jaw in his hand and extended the kiss. “Miss you. Say hi to Flower.”

“I will,” Sid said. “Will you—” He fumbled at his waist, reaching beneath his coat to untie his pelt. “Will you take my fur back to Pittsburgh with you?”

Geno drew back and gave Sid a long, solemn look, his face half in shadow. “You don’t take with you?”

“I hate flying with it,” Sid said. “You know. Airport security. Sucks to leave it in hotel rooms. I’d just feel better leaving it with you.”

Geno was quiet for a few moments. “But you—don’t you worry that I keep?”

He had read about selkies, then. No surprise. It _was_ a risk, and it did happen. Sid had heard all the stories about selkies whose human partners stole their pelts and trapped them. There was a woman in Cole Harbour whose ex-husband had burned her pelt when they split up, and now she was stuck in her human skin for the rest of her life. Sid saw her around town sometimes and she always looked so thin and sad he had to turn away and pretend he hadn’t seen her. He knew what was at risk.

But Geno wasn’t human, and Sid trusted him. Beyond reason, without question. 

“Please,” he said quietly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, like, a big responsibility. But I’d really feel better sending it with you. You’ve always got my back, eh?”

Geno swallowed. “Always,” he said. He let Sid help him tie the pelt around his waist.

* * *

Sid started feeling sick on the flight from Toronto to San Francisco and puked in the cramped airplane bathroom, a roiling rush of seawater. Jerry had said this might happen, he reminded himself: it didn’t mean the curse wasn’t lifted. Probably Geno’s magic had been easing his lingering symptoms. He was going to be fine.

But it was clear by the time the plane landed that he wasn’t going to be participating in the skills competition. He begged off and retreated to his hotel room and passed out for a few hours. He felt a little better when he woke up and ordered some room service and checked his phone. Geno, three hours ahead of him on the east coast, had messaged him a picture of a lobster roll and added, **dinner in Portland))**. Then, only a few minutes ago: **why you don’t skate???**

**sick**, Sid replied. **puked on the plane. feeling better now**

**Sid(((((((((**

**Jerry said it might happen. I think I’m ok**. After a moment’s thought, he hit the button to call Geno’s number.

“Sid,” Geno said in his ear. His voice was warm with concern. “Why you’re awake?”

Sid settled back against the pillows. “Just woke up. I’m feeling kind of hungry now. Just ordered some room service.”

“Lobster roll,” Geno said.

Sid laughed. “Should’ve. How was the drive today?”

“Okay. A little snow. I listen to like, how you say, someone is read book?”

“Audiobook,” Sid said. “Book on tape.” God, it was so good to hear Geno’s voice and talk to him. He smiled against his phone. “You gonna watch the game tomorrow?”

Geno scoffed. “Of course.”

“Tell me about your book,” Sid said. He closed his eyes and listened to Geno’s voice in his ear.

* * *

He felt great in the morning and won a car in the game that night, so he probably wasn’t dying after all. He did some press afterward and showered and got a car to the airport and was on a plane by midnight.

He slept most of the way, tucked up against the window with his eye mask on. He didn’t wake up until the announcement that they were landing in Pittsburgh soon. The horizon was red with dawn. He checked his messages after the plane touched down and found one waiting for him from Geno: **see you soon** and then a bunch of pink hearts.

Geno was idling at the curb when Sid exited the airport, flashers on. He was driving the car he’d abandoned at the airport before they left for Halifax, his black Mercedes with the tinted windows. The wide smile on his face when Sid opened the passenger door made Sid glad he hadn’t gotten out of the car. This was a reunion they needed to have without witnesses.

“Hi,” Sid said, cramming his duffel down into the footwell and sinking into the tiny bucket seat. He leaned over and placed his hand flat on Geno’s chest, over his beating heart, braced against the soft wool-cashmere of his coat. “Miss me?”

“So much,” Geno said. He closed the distance between them for a kiss.

Without discussing it, Geno took the route to his own house instead of Sid’s, and Sid didn’t protest. It was early enough that he hoped to sleep for a few more hours. Geno’s bed seemed as good a place as any. Better than most.

“We sleep more,” Geno said as they climbed the stairs from the garage into the main house. “But first I give you something.”

“What’s that?” Sid asked, even though he knew.

They paused in the entryway long enough to shed their coats and shoes. Then Geno took him down the hall into the room he called his office, which Sid knew he mainly used to play video games and watch esports. Sid waited in the doorway as Geno crossed the room to his safe, wedged in one corner beneath a window. He crouched down to punch in the code and open the door. When he rose again, he had Sid’s familiar pelt in his hands, dappled silver.

“You kept it safe for me,” Sid said. His throat felt unexpectedly tight.

“Yes,” Geno said. He came to the threshold and gave the fur into Sid’s waiting hands.

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, [here's how I envisioned selkie Sid](https://sevenfists.tumblr.com/post/188887790607/okay-this-is-legitimately-the-stupidest-thing-ive).


End file.
